We Belong
by mj2007
Summary: It's been ten years since Harry Potter defeated Voldemort.  But for a ten year old orphan, and a surviving Weasley twin, the story is just beginning.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any of JK Rowling's wonderful characters, although I have contributed a few of my own.

June 13, 2008

When a mother dies leaving behind small children, it is always unfortunate. But sometimes, for some children, it is something more. Sometimes it is tragic.

So it was for a ten year old boy named Alf Woodruff.

Alf stood beside his mother's grave, stony faced and silent. Beside him were two younger children, a girl and a boy eight and seven years of age. A large man, face worn with grief and exhaustion, tried to comfort the smaller children, while occasionally glaring at the elder boy.

Alf was pale, a fair child with blue eyes and vibrant red hair. He was slim but tall for his age, looking almost weedy in his too short dark pants and oversized jacket. The children beside him, like the man who stood over them all, were short and olive skinned, with neatly trimmed dark hair and sturdy builds. The difference in siblings was no surprise to anyone who had known the Woodruff family, for Alf was only Billy Woodruff's step-son.

Beyond him, Alf heard Old Mrs. Woodruff (for she was no grandmother to him) snicker about what the "little bastard" was going to do now.

Alf winced. His Mom, Katie Woodruff, had never told him much about his real father, except that he was dead. For a woman who was as good with a story as his Mum was, he'd always secretly wished she would at least spin a story of what his Dad was like. Was he tall, like Alf was? Was he also pale, and did he have red hair too? (His Mom didn't). Did he have the same lopsided smile and goofy sense of humor?

Didn't much look like he'd ever know now.

Now. Now he was stuck with a stepfather who no better than tolerated him and two half siblings who expected him to do his bidding like an entitlement. Well, maybe not Liv so much…she actually seemed to like him. But Len treated him like a glorified servant. With Mum there he'd been able to stand his ground a bit, but he had a feeling that was all in the past.

The minister spoke from the grave site.

"Kathleen Woodruff was a devoted mother, and a humble woman. A tirelessly hard worker who devoted herself to family…"

Alf tuned out the eulogy. It didn't half represent the mother he knew anyway, at least before the cancer got her and messed with her mind. The mum he knew was someone who could invent magnificent fairy tails to entertain her children for hours, stories of wizards and witches, both good and evil, and magical schools where the ceiling was enchanted and people played funny sports on brooms high in the air. And the main figure was this kid, Harry Potter, who wasn't so much older than Alf was, but who got into SUCH adventures!

Alf had always urged her to write the stuff down…it was good, so much better than the crap they gave you to read in school. She'd have made a mint, she would have, if she'd only listened to him. What kid wouldn't have wanted to read stories like that?

Len wouldn't. He answered himself. Len would always be the one when Mom was telling her stories who would frown, pout, and say, "But that isn't REAL, is it? There's no such thing as GHOSTS." Funny how a little kid could sound so scathing.

And Mum would sigh, and say, "Of course it isn't real, sweetie. It's just a story." But she'd look a little sad, like she wished it was real, or like she'd wish her kids would humor her. So Alf would pipe up, "Well, maybe it is real, somewhere else, like on Mars. Maybe there's magic on Mars, Mum!" And Liv would agree… "Yeah, mum…I bet there are flying cars on Mars."

"Get yer head out of the clouds, boy." His stepfather, holding hands with a sniffling Liv, was beside him suddenly. "Just like yer Mom, ye are…always dreaming about something else. We've got to get back home."

He followed quietly, glad to be away from the dark, depressing, upturned earth that assaulted his nose. Len bumped into him roughly. "Just like mum…except YOU'RE ugly." His younger brother smirked. Alf wanted to smack him, but he knew that right now his own place in the household was rather shaky. His step-dad had never been mean to him, but he'd always made it clear that Alf was NOT his son, and that he didn't think too much of him.

"Boy's lucky he HAS a home, he is." Old Mrs. Woodruff sniffed, coming up to hold Len's hand.

"Mum." Billy Woodruff said, sounding tired. "It's Katie's funeral. Now's not the place to address this thing."

"This thing." Alf thought. Great, just lovely. My Mum's dead, I have no father, and what family I have left hates my guts.

Reading his thoughts, Liv stretched her hand out to him from her father's shoulder, and Alf gave a half hearted smile and squeezed it, before digging his hands firmly into his pockets once more.

Nothing came to pass, however, until late that night.

Alf had done what seemed like a mountain of dishes; his hands were raw from the soapy hot water. Amazing how much people could eat after a funeral, and somewhat pathetic that they expected to be fed by the family of the dead. He was just drying the last of the tea cups, and thinking bed was going to be nice tonight.

They were all gone now, all the friends and relatives, even snarky Old Mrs. Woodruff. Only his siblings and his step-dad remained. Liv and Len were in bed now, and Alf set his shoulders as he heard Billy's heavy steps come down the stairs.

"Arr." The older man gave his familiar expression of pure exhaustion. He sank down at the kitchen table and put his head in his hands, then shook himself slightly and looked over at Alf. "Best we had a discussion, Alfred. Suppose now is as good a time as any."

"Yessir." Alf said, wiping his hands on the dish towel and coming to sit down as well.

There was silence for a few moments, and not a comfortable one. Alf noticed that a manila envelope, puffed out with its contents, sat before his step-father, but he had no idea what it was. And given that the man had been the one to initiate this talk, it was probably a good idea for him to wait before asking questions.

Finally, Billy spoke. "Yer mom…she was powerful sick these past months. Lots of drugs in her, trying to keep the pain down. Know you spent a lot of time in with her…you were a good son to her, I'll give you that." He wiped his hand over his stubbled face. "What'd she talk to you about, all that time, Alf?"

"Er…" Alf swallowed hard. "Sorry, Sir…she was mostly…well, the meds got her, I guess. She sounded pretty out there towards the end…didn't know what she was saying, I expect." He stammered out.

His step father's brown eyes bored into him now, the man suddenly less tired and more sharp. "WHAT did she say, Alfred?" He asked again, demanding an answer.

"She…you know those fairy tails she used to tell? She started trying to insist that they were real." Alf blinked, saddened to think his Mum had lost her last grip on reality towards the end.

"_It's all real, Alfred. Hogwarts and Harry. There was a wizard called Voldemort, but we didn't care when we were kids…well, just a little, but it seemed like a game. Until it wasn't a game any more. But oh, it was a wonderful world, and it's your world…your dad was a wizard, one of the best, and he died a hero in the war. It was all true. Every story I ever told. That's your world, Son…only…only…I had to protect you. Had to bring you here. You do understand, don't you? I couldn't go back. Once I realized what you were, that you were…different… I had to protect you."_

She hadn't been clear by what she meant on that…exactly how he was different. But didn't matter much anyway, right? His Dad a wizard, and her coming from a world where there was a magic war that had killed him. She could have said it was on Mars, and it would have been the same thing, really. Mum had gone barmy.

"Right." Billy spoke slowly. "Bit of a shock to you, I suppose. Hearing it was true."

WHAT?

Alf could only gape at his step-father incredulously as he pushed the envelope forward. Because he knew nobody less barmy, less imaginative, than Billy Woodruff.

"She left me a letter…and asked me to give you this. G'on, open it."

With shaking hands, Alf spilled the envelope's contents on the table.

Two letter sized envelopes spilled out, one thin, one thick. The thin one was addressed to him; the thick one was addressed to someone named George Weasley and had "confidential" underlined heavily beneath it. Also spilling out of the manila envelope was a wooden stick, slightly bumpy, about twelve inches long. He put it to the side, wondering at the very, very faint tingle that it gave him when he picked it up.

His envelope contained a letter…written in his mother's neat hand. The back side of the letter had a diagram of a street on it, an address, and a drawing of a brick wall with the numbers 1-5 circled on certain bricks.

He read slowly.

_Alfred my son:_

_I know what I am about to tell you will come as a shock to you…and knowing how I have brought you up, I have only myself to blame. It was I who made the decision to raise you far away from the world of magic, to protect you from those who might despise you. It was a mistake; I can see that now; you have never fit in, quite, with the muggle (non magic) world, and your step-father, good man though he is, has never really taken to you. Whatever else the magic world might offer you, it would have offered you real family, and I took you away from that._

_You think I have been rambling from the drugs they have given me, but I tell you nothing but the truth. I have refused drugs the past five days, so I could be clear headed when I wrote this._

_Your father was a wizard, and I was…am…a witch. We fell in love at school, and started a relationship shortly afterwards. I found out I was pregnant just as the war got on. I begged your dad to leave, without telling him why…begged him to remove himself from the danger he faced, because I knew I could not put my unborn child in harm's way. But your father was stubborn, and he had family…a big family…all of whom were just as active in fighting the evil wizard Voldemort as he. Since I didn't tell him you existed, he didn't realize he had something to protect beyond his family. So I left, not just your father, but the wizarding world. I thought you would be safe here._

_After you were born, I heard your Dad had been killed in the final battle. And then I realized you were special…different…forgive me for not explaining to you how, but I think it would come better from someone else. And I might be wrong. But I thought you would be better off in the muggle world. Then I met Billy, and he's a good man. He loved me, and I thought he would come to love you. I am sorry that never happened, but it hasn't been such a bad life, has it? Then I got this muggle disease, and I began to think about what I maybe should have done. Particularly as you get older…you look so much like your Dad that it makes my heart break._

_There's an address on the back of this letter for a pub in London called the Leaky Cauldron. Most muggles can't see it…you will be able to because you have the address. You need to take the wand I have left you (my old wand, cypress wood and swan feather) and tap the bricks in the alley behind the pub in the order I have listed. My magic imprint will only flow within the wand for two weeks after my death,, so you must do it soon. _

_A passageway will open to a street called Diagon Alley. It's the Wizard section of London. Lots of boys not much older than you will be there getting supplies for school, so you will not look out of place. Just head down the street to the mid point, and a place called Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Ask for George Weasley, and give him the other envelope. I am quite certain that it will all be okay then. George will take care of you…how could he not?_

_Be well on your journey, my son. I wish I could have done better by you, but I have given you what I could. Including…_

_All My Love._

_Katie Bell Woodruff_

Alf swallowed hard, feeling anger building within him. "Just like I always thought…" He said, bitterly. Looking up he caught the tired eye of his step-father. "She'd have made a fortune if she'd ever published this stuff."

The man didn't speak at all, though his face grew red. He slowly pulled out his wallet, and counted out a hundred pounds, and passed it forward. "This should get you to London, boy. Know there's a train around 10 or so that would get you there for around 4pm."

Alf felt his stomach drop. "So that's IT then?" He snapped off. "You're using Mum's rambling story to get rid of me? Not that I'm surprised, Sir, but couldn't you at least have gone with military school or something?"

Billy stood, towering over Alf, controlling his anger. "She was your mother, and she loved you!" He growled. "You're going to do what she said!"

Alf stood and stared back defiantly. "She was my mother, and she loved me, but thanks to the cancer she was FLAT OUT BARMY!"

The slap knocked him flat off his feet, taking him by surprise, as did the below of rage from his step father. Billy certain sure didn't love him, but he'd never struck him before either. Before Alf could recover he felt another stinging blow…his step father was beating him with his belt, punctuating ever pause for breath with a forceful lash.

"She…was…your…MOTHER!" He screamed. "She…loved…you…She…loved…your…father!" He paused as Alf lay still, arms defensively over his head, shaking with pain and fear. Then Billy began again, flailing even harder.

"LIKE…SHE…NEVER…LOVED…ME!" And he went on six or seven more blows before dropping the belt with a thud and stumbling out of the room, crying himself.

Alf lay there for some time, sobbing into his arms. Why had his mum done this, played this cruel joke that tortured him with the promise of escape, tortured his step-father with the promise of relief? They were both of them barmy, couldn't they see that? But no, he was being tossed out and told to remove himself to a place that didn't even exist. How far would a hundred pounds last him in London? And then what would he do?

If it were true…oh, if it only could be…then it would be wonderful, of course. Only it wasn't, couldn't be, would never be. There was no such thing as witches, or wizards, or magic, and tomorrow he would be homeless in London with no where to go, and nowhere to go home to.

Weary with pain and grief, Alf pulled himself up to the stairs, for what he though might be the last night of his life.

He woke up the next morning, with Liv curled up beside him…he wasn't sure when she'd come in, but he vaguely remembered her kissing his forehead and saying something about "Daddy not meaning it."

Wincing, Alf hardly agreed…he was quite certain his step father had meant every blow, and further had been holding the desire to do it deep inside for some time.

He cringed abruptly backwards when the door opened and Billy, dark eyed and haunted, stumbled in. He was carrying the manila envelope, now repacked and re-sealed.

Liv woke up then, and scrambled protectively over Alf, somehow managing to press every bruise he had further into the hard mattress.

Billy sighed and reached forward, picking Liv off of Alf gently. "There now, Missy, I'm not in a state anymore…ye don't have to be Alf's personal shield."

Liv stood before him, looking an awful lot like mum. "Promise?" She asked, arms folded.

"Aye, promise." He said, solemnly. "Now, get yerself downstairs fer your breakfast."

With a sigh, and one last look at Alf, she did as told, leaving the two of them alone.

Billy sat on the side of the bed, and handed the envelope back to Alf, along with the forgotten money. Alf accepted it without words, hardly daring to speak.

"Sorry bout last night, boy." Billy spoke gruffly. "Always promised your mother I'd treat you fair, I did. And that wasn't fair at all."

Alf didn't reply, thinking that "not fair" was a pretty mild way of describing it.

"That's why, you see. Why you have to go. I'm not a violent man, Alf, but I can't guarantee it won't happen again. I tried, right enough, to be decent to you at least, but I can't keep to it with her gone. Not your fault, I know…but not mine, either boy." He stood quickly, running his hands through his hair. "Ye can't know…what it's like, looking at you, knowing who you must look like. I loved her with every piece of me, but she never could stop loving the man who fathered you. I wasn't ever quite enough for her, and every time I look at you it hurts, all over again, until I just want to…" Billy stood, stock still, knuckles white in fists, and Alf held his breath.

Counting to ten, Billy relaxed with some resolve. "There, you see what I mean? She'd hate me for doing it, but that wouldn't stop me, not with her dead."

Alf found his voice. "What happens when I get to London, and it isn't true?"

Billy let out a deep breath. "It is true…she showed me her magic, once or twice, when you were a babe, then told me she had to put all that aside, that she wanted to live a non-magical life. I suppose it's too much to believe that, for you, but…but I believe in HER, always did. But truth is, even if it isn't true…Alfred, you just can't be here. Because I'll destroy you, with my fists or my words or both. And I don't want that to happen."

Me either, thought Alf, though he still didn't believe a word of it.

"Cmon, pack your things…a rucksack should do. I'll take you to the station."

"Right. Can I say goodbye to Liv?" He asked.

Billy shook his head. "Don't want a scene…my Mum's picking her and Len up from downstairs now. Once you get where yer going, you can write her…she'll believe, she will. Len never would, but she will." Billy went to leave. "I'll pack you a lunch too."

_Here's a sandwich and a hundred pounds, kid. Now get out of my sight before I beat you into oblivion. Oh, and have a nice day._

Alf smirked, and rose slowly, wincing. He recognized the truth in what Billy said, and knew that Billy believed the story to be true; last night's attack aside, he really was a decent man. And he had loved Mum. But the fact that Billy had loved Mum enough to believe this nonsense didn't make Alf's lot any easier.

With a mischievous grin, he opened up the larger envelope and removed the second, thick letter envelope. The one addressed to George Weasley.

He'd been in too much shock to recognize it last night, but the name was familiar to him from Mum's stories. Although he didn't remember a George, specifically. He remembered Ron Weasley…he was in the Harry Potter stories a lot. And a Percy Weasley, who was a real prat. Ginny, who would go on to be Harry's girlfriend. And a duo known always and only as THE WEASLEY TWINS. If she'd ever mentioned specific names, he didn't remember.

"_You could always tell a Weasley…" Mum had said, looking dreamy. "They all had bright red hair and smiles that could pierce the greatest darkness."_

He'd always suspected that she'd added that bit in for him, because he'd always felt a bit of a freak about his hair.

Well, no reason why he shouldn't see what Mum had written to this fictional Weasley, was there? Sure, it said confidential, but since he didn't believe in George Weasley, why not open his letter?

Only…

Only…

He couldn't.

The paper wouldn't rip. Not with his finger nail, not with a pair of scissors. He shook it, beat it against the desk, even poked it with that silly stick (cypress and swan feather my arse!). Only the stick got it to do anything, revealing some stupid trick ink, in his mother's handwriting.

"Confidential for George Weasley ONLY, darling!"

Huffing, he stuffed the offending document in the rucksack with a couple changes of clothes and some photos of Mum. He placed his own letter and the stick in the front pocket, along with the money Billy had given him. Feeling a fool, he looked around the only room he knew his whole life.

"_Harry Potter grew up in a muggle household, and he used to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs."_

Right. No cupboard here. No, he was sad to leave his safe little room, cold comfort though it offered him now. And no matter what anyone else believed, he didn't think there was any magic that would make his muggle life better, like had happened to Harry Potter.


	2. Chapter 2

One long train ride later it was 4:30pm, and Alf, dwarfed by his rucksack and sporting a lovely purple bruise on his cheek from last night's incident, stood in front of The Leaky Cauldron.

Funny, it really did seem like all the other people strolling past didn't even see it there, Alf thought. True, it was unimposing enough…just another hole in the wall pub in a rather decrepit area of London. So maybe it just didn't merit notice from other folks. Because it _wasn't_ magic.

He took a deep breath and entered.

It was dark, and somewhat dingy. A large man with scruffy, wild hair stood behind the bar cleaning a glass mug. One corner was occupied by an old lady in funny black robes, who was nursing some drink that had smoke spewing from the top.

"Er, boy." The bartender peered at him, clearly not able to see him too well. "What're you about?"

Alf cleared his throat, feeling a fool. "I'm going to Diagon Ally." He muttered, clearly expecting to be told to get the hell out of there.

"By yerself?" The bartender asked.

Alf was puzzled. If this was a joke, there were a lot of people in it. Or maybe there really was a Diagon Alley, but it was just any alley that might be behind any pub.

"My mom sent me." He tried, wondering what the next response would be.

"And whose yer mom, then, boy?" He glowered over him.

"Katie Woodruff." He replied, and then remembered nobody would know Mum by that name. "Er, she used to be Katie Bell."

The change in the bartender was immediate. "Katie girl! Haven't seen her in an age! She tell you the way in, then?"

With a shaking hand, Alf lifted out the wand in answer.

"That's right, then. Off with you. And tell yer Mom old Tom says hi."

"Er…right." Alf said, heading towards the back door that led to the hidden entrance, according to his mother. He decided it was just as well not to mention Mum was dead.

He heard the lady in the corner just as he let the door close behind him. "If that boy isn't a Weasley then I'm not Amanda Hooch…"

The wall loomed before him, an expanse of rough hewn bricks. The ally stank of garbage and cats, and stale beer. Feeling a complete idiot, Alf looked at his letter, and tentatively tapped the bricks as his mother had diagrammed them. At first nothing happened, and then…

"Blimey." Alf whispered.

Slowly a hole appeared. It grew bigger, and bigger, and smoother, until there was a stone archway leading into a sunny street before him. A street sign was visible just on the other side… "Diagon Alley"

Knees shaking, Alf tentatively stepped forward into a whole new world.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

BANG!

"Oy, there, mind the merchandise. You break it, you buy it…and I know yer Dad, Angus Wood!"

Ron Weasley made sure his voice carried down to the tow-headed five year old, who had gotten rather too close to the fizzing wizzbangs. An appealing smile and charming Scots brogue answered him back.

"Sorry, Mr. Weasley."

Ron calmed down, returning to taking inventory from the shelves. "That's alright then…but I see yer Dad coming this way. Best be off with you!"

Young Angus scampered through the door to be scooped up by his burly father, who was the six time Keeper of the Year for the Puddlemore United Quidditch team. Oliver waved to Ron through the glass, and headed off with his young family.

Last customer of the day, Ron noted. They closed at 5, but business today had been slow; Hogwarts shopping really wouldn't get heavy until a couple of weeks from now. He called over to the young lady at the cashier's desk. "Oy, Aurora…you can head home. I'll close up for you!"

A pretty blond in her teens smiled up at him. "Thanks Uncle Ron." Her hair flew behind her almost magically as she swooped down to grab her bag. Ron chuckled. Strange having half-veela relatives. Aurora was a niece of Bill's wife Fleur.

Ron went over to the cash register and began the daily task of closing things down. He was good at this, a good businessman it had turned out, though he doubted most of his relatives would have seen it coming. He'd wanted to be an Auror once, but that was when they thought they needed Aurors. After the final battle, he'd decided he'd had enough of that for a lifetime. Beside, George needed him.

Ron sighed and looked at the door behind him. That led to the labs and storerooms, where his older brother worked at new products, perfecting and refining the jokes and wonders that were the company's stock in trade. George had a ready smile and a wicked sense of humor, particularly about his missing ear (he'd lost it in the war). To anyone who had never known him before, they'd think he was a pretty happy guy.

Ron had known him all his life, and knew this: George hadn't been a happy guy for 10 years.

George was once Fred-and-George. Half of a pair of twins, inseparable, irascible, irrepressible, and irresistible. Fred-and-George. One said it like one might say any name. Fred-and-George were the beaters on the house Quidditch team. Fred-and-George planted a dung bomb in Snape's office and got detention. Fred-and-George were out back de-gnoming the garden. Fred-and-George were fed up with that bitch Umbridge and ended their Hogwarts career with a bang, amidst the cheers of students and like-minded teachers. Fred-and-George opened up a little joke shop on Diagon Ally that within months had become a booming enterprise. Fred-and-George vowed to fight in the war beside their friend Harry Potter, no matter what.

Only, in the end, when the dust had settled, Fred was dead. Eyes shut forever after one final laugh. And George…poor bewildered, lost George, was still alive. In a manner of speaking anyway.

"George…closing up here shortly." Ron yelled back.

George didn't come out, calling in return. "Right enough, Ron. See you tomorrow."

Ron scowled. "Not coming over to Mum's fer dinner, then?" Their Mum had taken to hosting family dinners once a month, and tonight was one such occasion. George, however, only showed up half of the time.

"Got plans tonight. Sorry."

Ron scowled harder, and began to count galleons with malevolence. "Plans, my arse, George." He muttered. "Plans to lock yourself in the lab until all hours, trying to forget about Fred, until you go up to your rooms and force yourself to sleep and not dream about Fred."

He knew sometimes these large family dinners could be an ordeal. Bill and Fleur, and their two kids, Victoire and Frederic, or Ricky, as they called him, would be present, as would Percy and Penelope, and their young daughter. He'd be there with Hermione and two year old Rosie and baby Hugo. Harry and Ginny ought to be there too, with four year old James and Rosie's great buddy Albus, and the infant Lily. Unless Harry had his god-son Teddy this week; then they'd be by later, after Teddy's Youth League Quidditch game. Only his brother Charlie, off in Romania, would probably be absent.

He understood George's reluctance, to a point—it WAS overwhelming. But damn it, not really. When George was around…when his nieces and nephews got a-hold of him, it was as close to being GEORGE, his old George, that Ron ever saw. Because they loved and worshipped goofy Uncle George, who always had some new toy for them to try out on each other, and who was just a big kid himself.

Really, George needed to stop cutting himself off from people. He'd cut himself off from Angelina, his old girlfriend, first, and now slowly, in a way that rivaled water torture, from his family. But he needed somebody. Somebody to stop him from cutting himself off from everything until he was reunited with Fred.

They'd lost one twin. Ron would be damned to sit back and lose the other.

But how to stop it?

The magical doorbell played…a rooster crow fading to a moo, George's whim, announcing a last minute customer. Ron looked at his watch and grimaced.

"We're closing in five minutes." He yelled, looking up.

His eyes locked with a wide-eyed boy, not more than ten years old, and his jaw dropped.

The boy came forward, uncertain, holding an envelope in his hand. "Are you Mr. George Weasley?" He asked, politely, though the lad's hand shook. "I am to bring this to him from my mother."

"Blimey!" Ron whispered.

Apparently George had been keeping a secret or two beyond the formula of U-NO-POO.

Clearing his throat, Ron grasped the envelope. "George Weasley is my brother. I'm Ron Weasley." He said.

"Oh." The boy said. "That envelope won't open for anybody but him. At least, it wouldn't for me, when I tried…" Blushing, the boy stammered on. "I mean, I know I wasn't supposed to, but, well, how was I to know!" He tried to bluster his way out of the admission.

Ron nearly laughed, or he would have if he weren't still shocked. "I'll bring this right back to George, then." He managed. "You stay where you are…" He headed to the door, and then as an afterthought added, "And DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING.:"

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

George Weasley sighed, looking with some disdain at his latest invention. The kaleidoscope YoYo, or WoWo, as he'd been thinking of it, was based on a muggle toy he'd seen as a child. Only the Weasley version shot fireworks outward at random intervals; the more daring the tricks performed, the wilder the light show that resulted. It would be a big hit, and it would make a lot of money, but it was missing something, and he wasn't sure what.

But wasn't that how he felt about a lot of things in his life?

Dear Ron, always trying to make his life more complete. That ship had sailed ten years ago. The kids were terrific, his nieces and nephews; George loved them to bits. But sometimes he still missed Fred so much it hurt. Some mornings he'd wake up and for a blissful thirty seconds, maybe even a full minute, he would forget Fred was gone. That was the happiest minute of his day.

After Fred, nothing much made sense anymore. He kept the shop going, even thriving, as a testament to Fred's memory, but that was about all. There had been Angelina, but that had ended ugly…why should she want half a man? And he'd never really dated much afterwards. The ear was a problem, for one thing…having a shiny hand sized patch of scarred skin where an appendage ought to be was not really attractive. But more than that, he found he couldn't get close to anyone. Hadn't been close to anyone since Fred, and didn't care to go down that road again. Hurt too damned much.

Sometimes he thought he was just sitting around waiting to die, watching the sands in his hourglass drop slowly. Who had ever known he and Fred were on different time-tables?

"Oy, George." Ron stood before him, interrupting his thoughts, looking a total cross between amused and shocked. "Something you'd like to tell me, mate?"

"Yeah…close your mouth before the flies get in." George quipped.

Ron complied, sort of. "Anything else?" He asked, with a smirk.

"No, unless it's to tell you that I am absolutely positively not going to dinner tonight." George turned back to the WoWo. "Why do you ask?"

"Only because there's a kid out front who appears to be your son, asking for you." Ron said, with a total air of innocence.

"Shattup." George muttered, not even looking at him.

"Not kidding, George. I swear to God a kid who can only be your son is standing out front." Ron insisted.

George glared at him. "I think I would know if I had a child, Ron. Maybe YOU were oblivious during the act, but my memory is a little better than that."

"Look, George, there really is a ten year old kid out front, with YOUR face, and an envelope with YOUR name on it."

George stood up with a clatter. "Are you daft?" He grabbed for his jacket.

"Wha?"

"You left a ten year old child alone in THAT SHOP, Ron?" George tossed back his tea and scrambled for the door.

"Well, I thought he was YOUR SON!" Ron explained, following.

"All the more reason…"

BANG!

George didn't bother completing his sentence.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

Alf was still in a state of shock.

He'd walked down Diagon Ally, continuously repeating to himself, "This can't be happening! This can't be happening!" And somehow talking himself into keeping his mouth closed.

Owls. Brightly colored robes. Broomsticks. People popping up in front of you with no warning. A wand shop. Funny little creatures he guessed were elves. A bank called Gringots. A woman across the way turned herself into a cat and stalked down a back alley. Kids ran too and fro, throwing about the most magnificent array of toys he'd ever imagined. An ice-cream parlor advertised over one million flavors. Music played from a small park in the corner, only the instruments seemed to be playing themselves.

He spotted the store he was looking for…Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes…only it wasn't the little store front his Mom had described. It was a huge emporium of exploding color and sound, with the most amazing windows he'd ever seen. A show on the telly had described Harrod's at Christmas, but this had it beat all over.

A small boy darted out in front of him and was swarmed up by a jovial young man.

"Angus, me boy, ye can't get by me any better than a quaffle!" He tossed the boy in the air and Alf was envious as the child squealed with glee.

The man waved into the window at somebody, and bounced the child up to his shoulders. Turning slightly, he crossed the road, only to look back and catch Alf's eye. The man looked startled for a moment, and stumbled a bit. The boy yelped, and the man righted himself. Alf pulled into the shadows, so he was out of the man's eyeshot when he turned back once more. With a shrug, the man shook his head, and then continued on his way.

It took some minutes for him to scrape together the courage, but at last he bravely headed into the shop. He'd found himself alone, with a red-headed man behind the counter. Perhaps this was George Weasley?

It hadn't been, though the bloke had seemed nice enough. Said George was his brother, and excused himself in rather a hurry to fetch him, telling Alf to not touch anything.

Easier said than done. Alf looked about the shop in wonder, as he walked away from the counter where George's envelope rested. Such things as he couldn't name or imagine, all about. He leaned over to look at some creatures in a cage, named pygmy puffs, that came in colors nature couldn't possibly have intended. One looked up at him and purred, rubbing against the bars.

_Don't touch, don't touch, don't touch_ he kept chanting to himself.

A fanged Frisbee tried to bite him from a cage. Something called skiving snackboxes promised to make him vomit, and he wondered why he'd want that? A can of "pumpkin juice" tumbled forward, spilling its contents and then picking itself up and righting itself again. He grinned stupidly. This place couldn't, just couldn't be real!

The cutest little sparrow alighted before him, chirping delicately. Unable to resist, Alf reached out a finger to the little bugger…

BANG!

The bird exploded with a giant clap of thunder, sending feathers and soot everywhere. Smoke filled the room, and Alf started choking.

"_And DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING!"_

Ron Weasley's admonishment came back to him about ten seconds too late. Absolutely terrified, he considered running for it, but wondered if they would send one of the Frisbees after him.

"Oi!" A rough voice boomed in the store, angry enough to shake the glass, as its owner was waving across the smoke. "What are you about, kid? Coming in here at closing with a cock and bull story and making a mess…"

The smoke cleared as Alf stayed rooted to the spot, legs shaking. Ron Weasley he saw first, coughing and waving a stick that was sucking the smoke and feathers out of the room. Then Alf saw the other brother, the one who was yelling.

Sweet lord, it was like looking in a mirror at his older self.

Same face. Same hair. Same build. _Same freckles._ The man stared back at him, and the red blush of anger on his face drained like water from a tub.

And something in Alf exploded just like the sparrow had.

"You sonofabitch!" He screamed, charging forward at George Weasley. "You let my mother think you were dead, you bastard!" He went to pound on the man with his fists, only to be grabbed at by Ron. He spun away, shaking with anger and tears running down his face. "You left us…left her…with a man she didn't love and who sure as SHITE didn't love me, in a world we didn't belong in. WHY, WHY DIDN'T YOU LOVE HER?"

He was overcome with sobs suddenly. It had been a long day, he was still hurting from the fight with his step-father, and his world was now completely inside-out.

"Kiddo…" George Weasley, pale and shaken, held his arms out slowly, trying to calm him.

"ALFRED. It's ALFRED, you stupid fucking git! God, you don't even know my NAME!"

He grabbed his rucksack. "Forget it, forget that I was here. I'd rather end up in a foster home in London than with somebody like you!"

Alf, boiling over with rage, shoved the other man, once again trying to calm him, into a display of Devious Dominoes, before charging through the door and blindly down the now quiet street of Diagon Alley.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: Thanks everyone for reading…reviews welcome!

WWWWWWWWWW

Ron swore, trying to beat the multiplying and attacking dominoes off of him. George just stood rooted to the spot, mouth agape and trembling.

"Some help here would be NICE!" Ron finally snapped.

Shaking himself, George began to pry the dominos off of Ron, before remembering he was a wizard, after all, and he had a wand. With a few well placed spells the offending game was back in order, and Ron was upright.

"George…what the bloody hell was that about? Did you not know you had a son????" Ron glared. George might have been grieving, but you didn't abandon a child.

George half sobbed, half laughed. "**I** don't HAVE a son, Ron. Did you look at him?"

"Course I looked at him. He looks like you." Ron insisted.

George shook his head, tugging at his floppy red hair. "God, nobody could ever tell us apart, not even Mum, but we knew…we always knew…Ron, he doesn't look like ME, he looks like FRED. That's Fred's boy! You know, he broke it off with Katie right before the war, and he never would talk about it, and she just went away…but she never said…blimey, I bet he never knew." George sat on the floor, rocking himself and laughing and crying at the same time.

"Fred's son?" Ron gaped. "Are you SURE?"

George wiped his eyes. "His name, Ron!" Seeing Ron didn't get it, George tried to calm down enough to explain. "Remember, we went to the Yule ball together, me and Angelina, and Fred and Katie. And Angelina joked that if she had a kid, she'd name him after Viktor Krum, just trying to piss me off, I think. And to diffuse me, Fred quipped that he knew what he'd name a kid if he ever had a son…he'd name him Alfred."

"Why Alfred?"

"That's what I said! And Fred…Fred smirked at Katie, and winked, and said, because that's what he'd be…he'd be …half Katie, and 'Alf Fred!" George burst out laughing, unable to catch his breath. "Brought the table down, it did, and Katie said she'd hold him to that she would. And look, she did…she did!"

Ron spotted the strange wand on the floor before him…Alf's wand, fallen out of his backpack. "He won't get far without this!" Ron worried.

"Merlin's beard go after him, Ron. I can't…I can't even breathe right now, and besides…he thinks I've abandoned him. He won't even look at me!" George was close to hyperventilating; he grasped at his sides and pressed, mind still reeling from what was the most impossible thing of all.

"Right." Ron looked back at his shaken brother with concern, then reached over to the counter. "You might want to read this over while I'm gone."

He tossed George the packet, and then turned to run out the door.

George managed to pull himself together. Holding the envelope, he immediately felt it warm in his hands, and then unseal itself. Neat little charm, Katie, he thought with sadness, as he pulled out a letter and several other sheets of papers, and a little stack of photos.

"_Dearest George…_

_I am certain that this is quite a shock to you, right from the moment of seeing Alf's face. I hope you can forgive me for what I've done. But even if you can't, please don't take my errors out on a young boy who had no part in them. He needs you, George._

_Last time I saw Fred was just before Bill's wedding. He wanted me to go with him, and I'd just found out I was pregnant. Not planned, obviously, but these things do happen. Now, I wasn't worried about how Fred would react…I knew he loved me, and I was pretty sure he'd be over the moon about being a father. But I saw where things were going, with Harry, with Voldemort, and I was afraid. I asked Fred to leave with me, hide out in the muggle world until things had blown over. But I didn't tell him I was pregnant. I wanted, selfishly, for him to leave for me, and not for our child._

_Fred, of course, thought I was being a coward. I had never shied away from a fight before, not on the Quidditch patch or anywhere else. It was one of the things he loved about me. And he knew what I hid from so many…that I was the first witch in my family not to be sorted into Slytherin. He knew I despised what my family associated with. They weren't death eaters, but they offered tacit support, if you know what I mean. He just didn't understand why I would suddenly flee instead of stand my ground._

_We had some pretty harsh words that night, words I've regretted and words that hurt him. And I would never see him again._

_I moved to the Lake district, and found a little cottage. Got myself a job waiting tables and watched my pregnancy progress. It was just days after Alfred was born that I found out the war was won…and also that Fred was lost. At that point, there didn't seem much point in anything to me. (Do you remember why I chose the name Alfred? The night of the Yule ball? I am sure you do). The baby was the light of my life…and even though your brother joked that any son of ours would only be "half Fred", I saw a whole._

_But George…Alf isn't normal. He isn't…quite right. I don't want to say more than that, until you get to spend time with him. He's a terrific kid, big heart, big laugh. A NORMAL kid. Which is what I thought I wanted. And I certainly knew then that I couldn't send him back into the world of magic._

_I got married to the man who ran the restaurant. He loved me head over heels, and I thought he was nice and stable, and I thought that was what Alf needed. I've got two more kids now, Liv and Len, who are wonderful and who Billy adores. Thing is, George, he never loved Alf._

_I tried. Tried to get him to see how good Alf was. But I knew he looked at him and just saw Fred. Didn't matter, though…I could love Alf enough for two._

_Then I got sick. I felt a pain in my side and ignored it, until it went away. It came back again, worse. But I just pretended I didn't feel it. Mother with three young kids, you know? Didn't have time to be sick. Finally went to a muggle doctor and found out it was cancer…then I went to a magical doctor and discovered magic couldn't heal it. Might have, had I found out sooner, but not now. The cancer was in my bones and eating my magic right out of me._

_I knew, then, I had to send Alf to you. Billy's a good man, but I can't count on him to be there for Alf like he needs. And Alf needs to have somebody who loves him. I know YOU will love him, faults and all, as will your wonderful family._

_This is all going to be rather a shock to him, George. He didn't know about magic, you see. Thought it was a set of pretty fairy tails I'd invented to amuse him. He's going to be stunned for a while. Give him time. For Fred's sake, if not for mine._

_I need to go. I've enclosed a will, giving you access to the vault I left behind at Gringots, to care for him, and his muggle birth certificate. A few other papers you might need. And photos from his childhood…I thought your mum might want them. I haven't got long now, and if you are reading this, then I am gone, but please, think kindly of me. I did love your brother, you know. Losing him was like losing half of…no, I can't say that, not to you. I cannot imagine how you have suffered. _

_Hopefully Alf will ease your wounds, as he did mine._

_With love and remembrance…_

_Katie Bell."_

_WWWWWWWWWWWWW_

Half an hour later, when Ron returned, white faced and alone, George was nearly pulled together. He wasn't surprised to see Ron alone; he and Fred had been ingenious about escaping from danger, as they had perceived it as mischievous children. Ron, though he was no Percy, had been a disgustingly well behaved kid unless Fred and George dragged him into some scheme. He simply didn't have the tools to find a wayward son-of-a-Weasley twin.

"George…I…we can't leave him out there alone!" Ron ran his fingers through his hair wildly. "It's getting dead on quiet out there and there are still some dark-magic nutters around…"

"I know." George felt strangely calm. "I'm going to find him, Ron. Stupid of me to lose it like that and not go after him to begin with. You need to get on home."

"Like hell…" Ron spat out, but George held up his hand.

"I need you to get to Mom's and give Perce this…" He handed over Alfred's birth certificates, the photos, the letter of inheritance for the vault, and a separate statement in the envelope indicating that Katie Bell Woodward wanted George Weasley to have custody of her son Alfred. "Perce can cut through the magical law enforcement bullshit for us and get the ball rolling." Percy was a Legal Counsel with the New Ministry of Magic. He still had elements of Percy-the-Prat, but all one needed to do was say the word 'Fudge' and he realized he was being a jackass. And he was, wholeheartedly and devotedly, family again. "I'll find Alfred and bring him round tonight."

"How…wha…wait, you're coming to dinner?"

George grinned. "I can't imagine Mom letting me NOT, with Fred's son in tow, right?" He took a deep breath. "Look, Ron, I can find him. I **will** find him. And I'll calm him down. What Katie left me…explains a lot. If you don't hear back from me by…" George looked at his watch. "By 8pm, then bring the posse out to Diagon Alley; Harry'd probably consider it fun. It's just past 5:30 now. I'll find him, and I'll bring him home."

Ron nodded, calming slightly. "Right, then, I'll be off." He looked down at the photos, the top one of a six month old child with a lopsided grin, tufts of red hair sticking up like a modified Mohawk. "God, he's a Weasley, isn't he?"

"Through and through, right down to the instinct to push his Uncle into a pile of attack dominoes. Go, Ron. I'll handle it."

George watched as Ron apparated, and then he headed with calm assurance to the area by the Leaky Cauldron.

WWWWWWW

Alf was fast, always had been. It came in handy as he sprinted away from the horrible shock of finding his bloody father alive, wanting nothing more than to get back to that stupid pub and get the hell out of this fucked up world.

His eyes were blinded by tears, and he wiped them away. It didn't make sense. THAT MAN was George Weasley. His mother knew George Weasley was alive, obviously; she'd addressed that envelope to him. But there was no way in BLOODY hell George Weasley wasn't his father…it would have been obvious to a two year old. If they looked any more alike they would have to have been CLONED.

So that meant…his Mother had lied to him?

He couldn't think that…he wouldn't think that…but he had to think that.

Wiping his nose on his sleeve he came to the now-solid wall which he knew lead to the Leaky Cauldron. To one side was a huge assortment of boxes and a craggy entry to another small alley, one that was dark and rather gloomy looking. Nobody was watching him, and he went to dig in the rucksack for that stick...wand…whatever.

Oh, shit.

Where was it? He'd had it at the store…he must have put it back, right?

Frantically he went digging through the bag. Clothes were tossed left and right, and he started breathing faster. The wax paper with his lousy corned beef sandwich went flying. Finally, in desperation, he scraped the bottom of the canvas sack, grabbed it and pulled it inside out.

No wand.

He stood quickly and looked over the wall. It went up, impossibly up, so high he couldn't see the top. An illusion of some kind, but clearly climbing over it wasn't an option. Not that he'd be able to anyway; the brickwork on this side was glassy-smooth., like polished granite. Apparently Wizards were damned careful about anyone breaking out of their little world.

With an exhausted sniff, Alf stood up, and re-gathered his clothes. He wasn't going back, not in a million years. If that man…his so-called father…didn't want him, hadn't wanted his mother, all these years, he sure as shit wasn't going to move in with him now. Not that he'd want him to, not that it had been even offered…the man had just come out yelling about that little explosion…

Rage boiled up again, combined with fear…had that explosion, which hadn't really been so little, caused any damage? What did they do to punish kids in wizard-world, anyway? Hell, he HAD to get out of here.

Frantic, he started pounding and clawing at the wall with his fists, willing it with all his might to revert back to that nice archway. He gasped and punched, barely aware of his scraped, bleeding hands, as he covered every inch he could reach, in the end throwing flying tackle and bruising up his shoulder pretty good.

A voice called out from beyond the curve of the alley. "Kid…Oi, Alfred…where'd you go?"

Shite, it was the OTHER Weasley brother, Ron. The one who had told him to begin with not to touch anything.

Looking around, he grasped the rucksack and darted through that narrow opening into the dark passageway, looking for a place to hide. He rounded a corner as the passageway opened up into another alley, and stood stock still.

Not good.

A sign was over his head, battered and broken, that announced this place to be Nocturn Alley. There was a whole row of boarded up store fronts. A large, red-eyed rat scurried away from him, carrying what had been a piece of Alf's sandwich. He thought he saw, but couldn't be sure, a bright green snake scurrying through a mound of garbage.

Forgetting momentarily that his objective was to hide, Alf moved forward towards the first shop. A mummified body was in the window. The door was open slightly, and he put his foot on the first step, only to feel it give way. Alf played goalie on the football team, and only his quick reflexes kept him from falling down into the dusty stairwell that opened before him. An avalanche of foulness fell on top of him; crumbling wood and spiders, spider webs and crawly centipedes. Yelling, he tumbled backwards, frantically trying to dust himself clean. A cobblestone seemed to reach out and grab his ankle, keeping him from running back towards Diagon Alley, and he fell down, sitting hard. The road wouldn't let him leave!

Fear and frustration overwhelmed him. He was at the point where there really wasn't much else for him to do. Shaken, hungry, and lost, he put his head down to his knees and let himself cry.

WWWWWWWWWW

George apparated into the area by the wall that led to the Leaky Cauldron. He knew that must have been how Katie had told Alf to find Diagon Alley; it would be where the boy would have run to so that he could return to Muggle London. But with no wand, he wouldn't be able to leave. A fully trained wizard could have done it, to be sure; but after all, no parent wanted their Wizard child to wander off and end up in a world of muggles by accident.

"Alf?" He called, fairly certain it was fruitless; it would have taken more than their name being called to get Fred and George out of hiding.

"_He thinks I am his father…that I hate his guts…that I abandoned him as a child. He also knows he caused an explosion after touching something he wasn't supposed to, so he thinks he's in trouble. And he swore at me. Hell, I sure as shite wouldn't come out of hiding to face MY father, and I liked my father…"_

A rat scurried underfoot, dragging a piece of bread. Fred knelt down. A piece of corned beef, half gnawed, was to the side. He smiled, and stood up. Sure enough, Alf was not far away.

He checked over the wall. With no wand, and no understanding of magic, he would guess the boy would have been frantic to get away. And, as he expected, he could see traces of blood against places on the stone. _Silly kid, bet his hands are a mess._ George winced in sympathy, and looked around.

_Dear God, he wouldn't have!_

But of course he would. Nocturn Alley was the only way out, and with Ron pursuing him he'd have taken it. After all, Alf wouldn't have any idea of what was in store. It wouldn't have occurred to Ron, because even if he'd set Mum's drapes on fire, he wouldn't have hid in Nocturn Alley.

George shook his head. After the war, Nocturn Alley had fallen on hard times, comparatively. But after dark, business was conducted as in the old days. Voldemort or no Voldemort, there would always be wizards who were attracted by the dark arts. They just had the good sense to hide themselves now.

Fortunately, it wouldn't be dark for at least three hours. Time enough…and if the sticking stones were still working like normally, Alf wouldn't have gotten far.

George advanced through the dark passageway, wand drawn.

WWWWWWWWWWWWW

Alf heard the footsteps, and pulled himself together. He didn't look up, but braced himself for the first blow. He knew he was in as deep trouble as he had ever managed.

"Ron wouldn't have known to find you here. He's not the sort to frequent Nocturn Alley." George spoke calmly, casting a spell to keep the stones from grabbing at him. "Me, I've had to make a trip here once or twice. Nature of my business. And I've been in a spot of trouble as a kid. Desperate times. Besides, you weren't likely to know what it was like here, were you?" George sat on the cobblestones next to his nephew.

Alf was holding himself quite still. He shot George one wrathful look, and then made a point of studying his knees.

"Now…" George drawled out lazily. "I could just release you from those stones, but I am afraid if I did that you would go running off down the street, and this place just gets worse the farther you go. On the other hand, it's going to gradually keep tightening its hold on your ankle, until your bones break, and I'd rather not have that happen. So, if I release you, will you promise not to run?"

Alf shrugged, feigning indifference. "If I did run, you'd just zap me with that stick of yours and bring me back anyway, right?"

George grinned. "Quite probably. I'd rather not, though." And understanding Alf wasn't going to take off, he pointed his want at the boy's food. "Relecto!"

The claw-like shackle dissolved back into the stone. Alf didn't move.

"Good lad." George said. He wanted, desperately, to reach over and rub the kid's ankle…it must hurt like hell, judging from how the boy was gritting his teeth. But the kid didn't trust him enough yet, and he knew it.

"Am I going to jail?" The boy spoke, finally.

"Not that I know of. Why, have you killed someone?" George answered very solemnly, hoping to get the boy to crack a smile.

No such luck. "I damaged your store."

George rolled his eyes. "If the store were damaged every time someone set off a Thunder Sparrow, I'd have been out of business a long time ago."

There were a few minutes of silence. George was trying to decide how best to proceed…there were so many things he wanted to say the words just congealed in his brain. It was Alf who spoke next.

"Can I go, then?" His voice was tight.

That gave George a plan of attack. "Absolutely…to a muggle foster home, I think you said?" George stood and held his hand out for the boy. Startled, and with some distrust, Alf took his hand and let George help him up. "Because you don't have any other home to go to, right? Your Mum wrote that your stepfather wasn't much fond of you." George very gingerly touched the bruise on Alf's cheek.

"Gerroff." Alf said, face flushed. "Least he never abandoned me."

"No, he just sent a ten year old kid by himself on a six hour train ride to London to meet relatives he didn't even know, with nothing better than a corned beef sandwich. Swell guy."

Alf looked at him. "How'd you know about…oh, never mind. Just let me back into the pub and I'll be out of your life."

"Right, oh. But see, I do have some sense of responsibility, even if you don't think so." George pretended to scratch his head. "I'll escort you to this foster home place. Any idea how to get there?"

Alf sighed. "Just take me to the cops. They'll do…whatever."

"I see. And that's more appealing than hanging round about here, I guess." George shrugged theatrically. "Course, that will probably take a long time… My dad's into studying muggles, and I think your going to be round the…police, is it?...station for hours and hours. Now me, I was so busy at work today I didn't get to eat much…and I bet you're hungry, too, since you didn't eat that sandwich."

Alf gulped. "How'd you know I didn't eat it?"

George smiled at him. "Never met a Weasley man yet who could stomach corned beef…even though my Mum will keep ignoring that fact. So…why don't we head into the Leaky Cauldron and let me get you a plate of food before we walk out of each other's lives forever, hm?"

With a sigh, Alf bent over to pick up his rucksack; George did it for him. Red-rimmed blue eyes looked him over carefully.

"Must have been pretty heavy carrying this load all by yourself." George said. He put a hand gently on Alf's shoulder, pretending to ignore the wince, and steered him towards the bar.

WWWWWWWWWWW

Once seated, George waved over Tom to the table. Tom for the first time took a good look at Alf, and then raised an eyebrow at George.

"Fred." George said simply, and Tom made an "ah" expression.

"Alfred." Grumbled Alf, thinking that his stupid so-called father still couldn't get his name right.

"Tom, I'll just have a pint of ale and a bowl of vegetable soup. The lad here will have a cheeseburger and a double order of fries, and a butter beer." George smiled at Alf. "I'll pick some fries off of your plate."

Alf was about to comment that George shouldn't presume to order for him, when the burger and fries popped onto the table in front of him, leaving him staring with his mouth open.

George managed to hold back a laugh. "Go on, then. It won't bite. Can't say that for everything here, though." George set to work on his soup, looking carefully for the occasional snapping snap pea pod that found its way into the bowl.

Alf didn't realize how hungry he was until he set in on the food…but it was good, a proper hamburger, juicy and warm, oozing with cheese. He reached tentatively for the drink, to discover that he really really liked butterbeer. Unceremoniously he wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and then he blushed. "Er, sorry." He glanced tentatively at this strange man.

George smiled, taking his time with the soup. "You're a Weasley gone too far past your last meal, think I don't know how you're feeling right now?" He put down his own spoon. "I do know your name, you know. It's Alfred." He spoke quietly.

Taking care to use his napkin this time, Alf wiped his mouth. "Why'd you call me Fred then?" He asked, trying to sound like he didn't care.

"I wasn't calling YOU Fred." George said, then removed the one photo from his pocket that he hadn't sent on with Ron. "Recognize anyone in that photo?"

Alf leaned over and blinked. The photo, which seemed to be animated, was of four young people dressed up formally. "That's mum." He said immediately, though in the photo she wasn't much more than sixteen. A striking looking young black girl was beside her, and on either side they were flanked by…

"That's you…or wait…is that…" Alf drew to a stop, blushing badly.

"THAT…" George pointed towards the boy next to Alf's mother. "Is in fact me. That…" He pointed to the other twin, on the side of Angelina Johnston. "Is…was…my twin brother. Fred Weasley." His voice caught slightly. "Your father."

Alf felt his stomach sink through the floor, and he put the burger down. "My father." He repeated, weakly. "But you're next to mum?" Though even as he said that, the twins in the picture winked and switched sides, earning mock glares from the two girls.

"Funny story, that…Your mum was my date…Angelina Johnston was his…half way through the night we ended up swapping…I'll tell you the whole thing at another time." George shook his head as the photographic Fred stuck his tongue out. He pushed the photo away…looking at it hurt.

"Your mum and dad broke it off just before the war…you do know about the war, right…"

Alf couldn't even look at George…he couldn't take his eyes off the picture. "Sort of. Mum told me stories…I thought they were fairy tales. There was a bad wizard, and he had to be beaten."

"Right. Well, long story short, your mum wanted Fred to come away with her, but she never told him she was pregnant. Fred was pretty damned loyal, and our family…you have to understand we were up to our eyeballs in this stuff. If Voldemort won we were all as good as dead, and not dead easily, either. No way was Fred going to just walk away." George cleared his voice, suddenly feeling hoarse. "He died on the day the war was won, freak curse blasting through the walls at Hogwarts." George rubbed at his own face uneasily. "I didn't abandon you, Alf. If I had known, I would have moved heaven and earth to find you."

Alf blinked. "So my father really is dead?"

"Fraid so." George grew somber. "Have to remind myself of it every day, seems so unreal."

Alf felt his shoulders sag. So strange…he was cursing this man for being his father twenty minutes ago, and now he was unspeakably sad that he wasn't. He picked listlessly at his fries, and the two of them sat in silence for several minutes. Alf didn't even look up when George rose to take care of the bill.

"Right then, shall we get you off to that foster home?" George said, trying to sound cheery.

He wanted, desperately, for Alf to turn to him and say he'd changed his mind. To say that maybe being a Weasley wasn't such a bad thing, and maybe magic wasn't such a bad thing, and maybe he'd give it all a shot. It was what Fred would have done.

Alf just winced. A single tear ran down his face, but nothing more. He reached over for his rucksack, as if it weighed two hundred pounds, and dragged it behind him slowly to the door, towards muggle London.

George took two steps and rested his hand on the boy's shoulder, so that he stopped. "Or…maybe I have a better idea, eh?" Alf looked up at him, eyes searching for something. George smiled.

"My Mum is having a family dinner tonight…s'why I didn't eat much. I'm sure she wouldn't mind setting out another plate." George squeezed lightly; again the boy winced and this time he acknowledged it by moving instead to stroke his arm very gently. "And then if you want, tomorrow morning I can take you back to the other side…after you've had a good meal and a good night's sleep. Or maybe then you might think that you could stand to hang around us for a bit, see what the rest of your family is like? That sound okay?"

Alf found his voice. "Aren't you angry at me?" He asked quietly. "I said some terrible things to you."

George laid his hand under Alf's chin. "When I found out Fred was dead, my brother Percy reached over to hug me and I decked him. And told him he was the devil's spawn itself and I'd rather acknowledge Voldemort for a brother than him." George cleared his throat. "Percy forgave me. Because he knew how bad I was hurting. You can only really be hurt by someone you love, you know."

Alf nodded, understanding his outburst earlier had been forgiven as well. George once more took up the backpack, and went to lead Alf out to the street area, where they could apparate. Alf paused.

"Sir…"

"Uncle George, please…"

"Uncle George…" He paused, as if getting used to the idea. "Mum said Percy was an arse licking prat who turned his back on his family. Was that part make believe?"

George was momentarily startled, then he fought to suppress a long laugh. "Not exactly…but you're Mum missed how the story finished. Percy came back to us in the end, right enough." They were back through the archway and into the street. "But he's still, on occasion, a prat. Wouldn't have him any other way. Now, are you ready?"

Alf looked around. "For what?"

"Ah. Yes, of course. Apparition. I'll have to take you with me. Come here, kiddo." George held a hand out to him, and Alf hesitated, then took it. George, very cautiously, pulled Alf closer, not wishing to frighten him. "Best close your eyes now, and hold on tight."

Nervous, Alf pressed his face into George Weasley's robes. "What if I let go?" He quavered.

"Won't matter, because I'm not going to." George wrapped his arms tightly around the boy, and felt something long frozen in his heart melt away. "Ready now…in three, two…one."

Alf felt his world dissolve.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note: Molly Weasley may seem a bit out of character to some folks. I would ask that the readers bear with me, and it will all unfold in due time!

Thanks, also, for all the reviews!

WWWWWWWWWWWW

Molly Weasley paced back and forth before the doors. At the kitchen table, Arthur sat, bouncing Perri, Percy's daughter, on his lap. Bill and Fleur's daughter Victoire was setting the table, while her younger brother Ricky was playing with Ron's two year old daughter Rose. Hermione sat beyond them, rocking nine month old Hugo to sleep. Ron was leaning against the counter, watching his mother, while Percy was looking over the stack of documents.

"Everything seems in order." He sounded almost disappointed; Percy did so like finding fault with things. "Though I should like to do a blood test."

"Perce, you won't be needing that once you see the kid. He's a Weasley…a Weasley twin even, through and through." Ron said, firmly.

"I can't believe it…I can't…" Molly whispered, shaking hands rubbing at her chin. "That…that terrible Katie Bell!"

"Molly…" Arthur said gently. "It isn't our place to judge her…and not likely to make her son feel very welcome."

Molly snorted once, and rubbed her arms vigorously. "Like Fred's son should need to feel WELCOME. One doesn't feel WELCOME in their home, they just BELONG there. That's what he should be feeling, not like some foreign guest." She turned abruptly to the stove. "Dear me, I wish I knew what he liked to eat. Do you think the pot roast will be good enough?"

"Nana…" Victoire's lyrical voice called out. "He is a Weasley, as Uncle Ron said. He will love anything you make for him, I am sure." She sidled up to her grandmother, looked up at her with wide silver-blue eyes, and smiled. Molly melted, the way she always did with her oldest grand-child. One would never guess at the animosity she once held for Victoire's mother.

At that moment, in fact, Fleur came in. Bill held her hand in his; he was no longer handsome after Fenrir Grayback had mauled him, but in Fleur's eyes he was perfect, and that was what had changed Molly's mind about his pretty wife. Percy's wife, Penelope, was with them, her lips curling with humor. "If he's a true Weasley…" Penny quipped. "He'll be inhaling the food too quickly to taste it."

Several people spoke at once, wondering about this new development, another body for the house of Weasley. Fleur's proclamation had the most certainty, as they usually did. "It is a miracle, this, for good brother George." She nodded pointedly. "E will be so 'appy with Fred's son."

Ron agreed fervently, but couldn't help but worry about the whole gathering. "Not sure this is a good idea, them eating here. Is Harry coming over with Gin and the kids?"

Arthur handed Perri off to Penny, and stood next to Ron. "Soon as Teddy's match is over. Why, what are you worried about?"

"C'mon, Dad, LOOK at us. You and mum…and Perce and Penny and Perri, and Bill and Fleur and Victoire and Ricky, and Me and 'Mione and our two, add in Harry and Ginny and their three…four, really with Teddy…That's nineteen right there! Poor kid's going to go BARMY."

"Are you implying…" Arthur played innocent. "That we would be rather imposing?"

"Lord, Dad, you remember the look on Harry's face the first time he came here? And that was with HALF as many people?" Ron shook his head. "I'd be hiding under the table for a week."

"You're worrying too much, Ron." Hermione said gently. "I am sure it will all be fine."

Ron shook his head, remembering the poor kid's shock just at SEEING George. He wasn't so sure.

The clock on the wall had a hand spin wildly. George Weasley was now indicated to be HOME.

"Oh!" Molly, all flustered, had to practically restrain herself from charging out the door.

George's voice grew stronger as he approached the house. "It gets better with time, Alf. Don't you worry none; look, my robes cleaned up right as rain." Ricky snickered, and Victoire shot him a look of death that stopped him cold.

The door opened, and before them stood George, and a version in miniature.

For a full ten seconds nobody spoke, while Alf, embarrassed and still nauseous, looked around at his instant family with some confusion.

Then they were being ushered in with a hail of greetings and introductions. Somebody took his rucksack. Another Uncle took the sweater he'd gathered around him. An aunt pressed a glass of water into his hands. A toddler bundled over and presented him with a toy duck. Alf felt his head swim.

Finally, an older woman approached rapidly, and the room died down. She stopped just a foot before him, and their eyes met. Molly held her hand over her mouth, as she studied Alf carefully, taking in each detail of his face and form. Alf studied her in kind…in her he found his eyes, and his smile. This had to be his grandmother. Alf came forward slowly, and extended his hand towards hers. "I'm Alfred."

She took it in a tight grasp, smiling with tears streaming down her face. "You certainly are, my dear." And letting go of her restraint, she grasped him in a quick, smothering hug, as if she feared he would disappear. Then, she freed him, and after a studied hesitation, hugged George, albeit rather awkwardly. "Good job finding him, dear." She murmured, still shaking.

"He'd have to get up pretty early in the day to fool me, Mum. You trained me well." George quipped, although his voice was far from calm.

Before Alf could even figure out what was going on, he was seated at a large, crowded table, and food began to dance…literally…onto the table. A lot of food. Of course, there were a lot of people. Unconsciously he pressed slightly closer to George; despite their rather unceremonious beginning, Alf trusted him.

"How's the pot roast, dear?" Mrs. Weasley called down to him.

Alf nearly choked on the rather large mouthful, horrified. At home, under his step-father's strict eye, children were not spoken to at dinner. "Mmvry Gmmmd." He tried to get out.

There was general laughter from the table. Ron winked at him broadly. "Oi, he's one of us, alright. And the food is smashing, as always, Mum."

No silence at this dinner table. There was a lot of laughter, a lot of food, a lot of joy. Uncle George was far and away the quietest one at the table, other than him. Alf noticed Mrs. Weasley meeting George's eye on occasion, and then quickly looking away. Whenever it happened, George turned his eye to his food, quite studiously.

"Here!" The young boy next to him, introduced as Ricky, handed him a wand. Surprised, Alf went to take it, only to be intercepted by Bill. "No you don't young man…" As Ricky's father grasped the wand, it turned into a live chicken. Percy was quickest with his wand, and quickly the offending fowl disappeared.

"GEORGE, REALLY!" Mrs. Weasley sounded exasperated. "What were you thinking, giving Ricky one of those things?"

The entire table became quiet as she snapped, and George raised his eyebrows. "I don't recall having done so, Mum." He replied, sounding wounded.

"I did, actually." Ron admitted, then turned to his nephew. "And I believe I told you it was not to come out at the dinner table." He said, trying to sound stern.

Ricky, who had his father's red hair but his mother's silvery eyes, tried to look innocent and failed. "I wanted to share with my new cousin. He wouldn't have known it was a fake wand, would he?"

Alf felt his face getting red. "Right-o." Bill lifted Ricky out of his chair. "Time-out for you, young man."

Ricky protested loudly as his father carried him away. Victoire reached over to Alf. "My advice to you, Alf, is to not trust my brother one bit."

Fleur demurred. "'E just has high spirits, our Ricky. Like his namesake."

There was an uncomfortable silence, and then everyone spoke at once, only not with the easy manner of the start of the meal. George was playing with his butter beer, and Mrs. Weasley stabbed at her pot-roast with violence, still glaring at George on occasion. Alf guessed that Ricky's full name must be Frederick. But he wasn't sure what Mrs. Weasley was so angry about.

George spoke suddenly, right to his mother. "I don't bring things in to the children you wouldn't approve of, Mum. You know that."

Again, silence settled round. Molly refused to answer; she stood quickly, sweeping the empty potato bowl towards the sink. As she grabbed a sponge, it suddenly emitted a sound like a fog horn; she jumped two feet, then turned back to the table, "HONESTLY FRED…"

Ooooh. Not good. Even Alf as a complete outsider could tell THAT.

Molly realized her mistake immediately, her face crunched up, and she darted from the room.

George pushed his plate forward abruptly, a red blush standing out on his pale skin. Alf sensed him counting to ten. "Will people please…" He said, with forced calm. "Please stop bringing our products back to the house, so Mum stops thinking I am trying to get the REST of the family killed?"

"George…" Arthur started, gently. "Nobody thinks…"

What it was that nobody thought wasn't to be found out, for the door opened with a clatter, and laughter, unforced and open, filtered in to the kitchen. A boy about his age with gentle brown eyes and mousy hair charged in, smiling wide. "I got the snitch! I got the snitch and we won the game!" And as Alf gaped, the boy's hair changed from brown to vibrant red, and his eyes went blue, while his nose grew longer. "Look, I'm a Weasley too!"

A very pretty red haired woman entered, carrying a tiny baby. "Easy there, Teddy…we rather like being able to tell you apart from the rest of us." She smiled around, then frowned. "What on earth is going on here…you all look like Professor Umbridge was holding class!" Her eyes met Alf, and he held his breath, but she smiled gently. "I am glad I got your Owl, Ron, or else I might have dropped the baby. You must be Alfred!"

Alf liked her immediately, and he smiled in answer. He rather hoped that her gentle good humor would diffuse what was clearly becoming an awkward dinner.

"Where's your better half, Gin?" Ron asked, as Teddy pressed through and squeezed in next to Alf, in the seat Ricky had been in.

"Is your hair always red?" Teddy asked him.

"Every day." Alf answered.

"Lucky!" Teddy sighed theatrically.

The woman was settling the baby into a high chair. "The better half is chasing down our eldest progeny, who immediately dragged his little brother out to play with the Gnomes. I swear James got all of our seeker genes, doubled over!" She looked about. "Where's Mum?"

"Disowning me." George grumbled.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "George…please…"

Before George could get out a reply, a young boy toddled in to be grasped by Ginny, and placed in a seat next to Rosie. A boy with wild dark auburn hair was carried in by a tall, dark haired man.

"Does anyone want my oldest child?" He claimed, with mock exasperation. "He has decided on a career of pest control!" The boy was giggling, as his father sat across from Alf at the table, his son being bounced on his knee. Bright green eyes behind glasses peered down at him; a funny scar was just visible on his forehead. "Hello, Alfred! Welcome to the nuthouse. I am your Uncle Harry!"

As recently as yesterday morning, Alf had been a perfectly normal young man mourning his mother. His mother who had been such a wonderful storyteller, who had created a fantastic fairy tale about a boy called Harry Potter…a boy with green eyes, glasses and a scar. Harry Potter had been as real to him as Spiderman.

So under the circumstance, Alf did what seemed to be the logical thing to do.

He passed out cold, sliding down to the floor.

WWWWWWWW

"Ah! Been a while since that's happened, eh, Harry!" Ron grinned widely. George, meanwhile, had leapt down and scooped his young nephew up with concern.

"He's fine." George announced, with relief. "Sorry, Harry…should have warned you…or him. Katie had rather turned you into a bit of a mythological creature."

"Poor kid!" Harry smiled in understanding. "I remember how I felt when Hagrid broke the door down on that foul cabin the Dursleys had tried to hide in!"

"I should get him home…" George murmured. "Tough day he's had."

"You ARE home!" The forceful explosion from Arthur was entirely unexpected and commanded attention. More quietly, he continued. "Look, George, it's late. And I doubt you have anything set up at the flat for a ten year old boy. Go on and take your old room for you and…and Alfred." The elder Weasley stood up and placed a hand on George's shoulder. "Molly's just out of sorts, right now. It's been quite a shock for her, you know."

George sighed. He loved his Dad, dearly…but he knew that sometimes the man just couldn't see what was right in front of him. Still, it was late, and it was true that he had no provisions for a kid back at his apartment. "Alright, Dad. I'll get him settled upstairs." He smiled thinly around the table. Only Ginny and Harry, who hadn't seen the awkward exchange, seemed to have easy smiles back for him. "Night all."

WWWWWWWWW

Alf came around to the sound of muffled swearing.

"I'll kill him…tear that bloody muggle limb from limb I will!" A voice Alf recognized as George was seething with anger, although he was trying to be quiet about it.

"Dear George, please…" That rather sounded like the young woman Fleur. "What is zee matter?"

"God!" The voice of Ron. "What the bloody hell happened?"

George inhaled deeply. "I went to undress him, that's what happened! Couldn't leave the kid sleeping in his jeans and sneakers, could I? And look at him!"

Alf realized he was laying, face down, on a rather soft, comfortable bed. He also slowly realized he was naked, although covered lightly from the waist down by a sheet. He screwed his eyes up tightly…just how much of the Weasley family was sitting there staring at him?

"His step-father did this to him?" Ron rumbled.

"Can't guess who else!" George seethed. "Look at those bruises! I mean, I knew he'd hurt his shoulder tackling the wall at Diagon Ally, and I figured his ankle would need a little attention, but I didn't expect this!"

"I will get you some oil of dragon nettle." She said, softly. "Dab it gently on those marks…'e will be fine."

"You…" George said. "Can dab that oil on. _**I**_ am going back to the Lakes to show his step-father a little cruciatus curse."

Alf decided he'd better announce that he was awake. "Please…" He spoke, drawing the attention of the three present. "Uncle George…don't go."

George swallowed hard, and came over to kneel by the bed. "Alfred…" George ran his hand through the boy's hair. "Your Aunt Fleur can take care of you…she is trained in healing…"

"I don't want anyone else to take care of me." He spoke quietly, looking George in the eye. "And I don't want you to hurt my step-father. He didn't…he isn't like that. I mouthed off to him last night…he'd never done it before. I don't want you to go to jail." Alf blinked. "I just FOUND you." He added, softly.

George looked like there was quite a lot he'd like to say, but he sighed. "Alright, kiddo. I'll stay and take care of you."

Fleur beamed and flounced out; Ron came over and put a hand on George's shoulder. "I'll just go down and explain your bellow of rage to the family, eh?"

Alf's face grew warm. "Does everyone HAVE to know? They'll think I'm terrible."

"This…" George said, emphatically, "Was NOT your fault, I don't care HOW MUCH you mouthed off to anyone." He turned to Ron as Fleur handed him a large vial and a clean sponge. "Tell everyone I discovered him slightly injured, and I'm tending to him. Then speak to Percy privately. I want to make sure that custody case isn't a problem."

"Right-o." Ron said, giving Alf a smile of encouragement.

Alf sighed, grateful it wasn't going to be a bigger deal, and happy that Uncle George wasn't going to go charging Billy. He winced at first, as the strong oil came into contact with his bruises, but then it began to soak in, and he felt as if the bruises were being slowly rubbed away. A gentle warmth spread over his back, and the air seemed fragrant with lavender.

"She adds that scent." George murmured to him. "Otherwise it would be reminiscent of old socks. Good to ease you on to sleep, though." A silence settled over the room, as George methodically cared for each bruise. He didn't realize Alf had started crying until there was a heavy sniff.

"Oi." George said, moving to stroke his head, and wipe at Alf's face. "Did I hurt you?"

"No." Alf said. "Dunno why I'm crying. Being a stupid girl." He muttered.

"Do NOT let your Aunt Ginny hear you say that." George quipped. "And I can imagine you have had one hell of a day. Wish you'd told me you were hurting." He added.

Alf pulled himself together with effort. "Wasn't so bad." He said. "Too much else to think about, anyway."

Without saying anything, George reached down and lifted the sheet to expose Alf's ankle. Those stones in Nocturn Ally were notoriously vicious, and indeed the boy's foot was turning purple. Not that it stood a chance against Fleur's salve. "I wish…" He murmured. "Fleur was around when your Dad and I were testing our merchandise in the early days." He smiled in memory.

"You must have been young when you started the store?" Alf asked.

"Very." George smiled. "Your Uncle Harry gave us the loan that got us going when we were just sixteen years old." He pulled the sheet back down and pulled a blanket up to Alf's shoulders, rubbing the boy's head. "Was just mail order then. But that was before we buggered out on our seventh year and brought Hogwarts to its knees."

"Professor Umbridge." Alf murmured sleepily.

"Your Mum told you that one, did she?" George grinned.

"Swamp." Alf replied, the room fading.

"That would be the occasion." Alf felt George suddenly press his lips to the top of his head. "I'll give you the dirty details at another time, shall I?"

"Mmmmm" Alf said.

The room smelled of lavender, his body tingled with the healing power of Fleur's salve, and his mind floated away on his Uncle's voice. It wasn't quite the same as finding a father…but it was still pretty damned good.

WWWWWWWW

George remained beside the bed for some time, watching Alf sleep. It seemed utterly impossible that his life could have changed so much in less than 12 hours. Relaxing, he sat back, leaning against the chest of drawers that separated the two twin beds. Twin beds. Ironic, that, and yet painful at the same time. He looked around; sure enough, Mum had never fully cleaned out the place; it was largely as it had been left from the last time he and Fred had been here. Oh, she'd cleaned out the clothes, but the walls, the blankets, the décor…all the same. It would have hurt, before today. Now, with Alf sleeping in Fred's bed, he felt a gentle presence here, instead of a stabbing ache.

Except of course, for the problem with Mum.

There are things you know as a kid without needing to be told. And George had figured out early on that if his mother had a least favorite child, it was him.

His mother was, really, a terrific woman. A wonderful mother. It hadn't been like she had treated him badly or anything. But with seven kids, it was almost inevitable that there'd be one who was left behind a tad. Others might think it was Fred-And-George that exasperated Molly and made her on occasion question the sanity of Motherhood, but George knew that it was only his half of the twin-dom that had driven her to distraction.

If they instigated trouble together, George got yelled at first, or punished first. If something might be believed to go wrong, she first looked to him. When they had only gotten three OWLS each, she had pulled George aside, not Fred, to scold him for not keeping Fred more focused. When they had, rather sensationally, dropped out of Hogwarts, she flat out accused George of leading Fred on to the path of destruction.

It had on occasion exasperated George. Sometimes, even, it hurt. But it never seemed to be that big of a deal. He wouldn't trade being half of Fred-And-George for the luxury of being, say, Bill. And Dad was always totally even-handed in how he treated all of them. So he'd shrug it off.

Until Fred had died. At that point, Mum had pointedly stopped scolding him for things…but only because for a long time she stopped talking to him whenever possible. For a while he had been numb to it, but eventually he realized that when she looked at him, it was like she was looking for Fred. Like she was wishing he was Fred.

He'd never told Ron, but that was why he'd started avoiding these family dinners. Underneath the family atmosphere and the myriad children, was the nagging feeling that she would rather it not be GEORGE sitting there.

"Hey there."

George looked up; his sister was in the doorway. He smiled in greeting, and she came over and sat beside him, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"Pretty amazing, isn't it?" She said.

"Ruddy miracle." George replied, reaching out to stroke Alf's head. "Percy's going to work out the custody issues for me…Ginny, I can't believe I'm this lucky."

"Bet he's thinking the same thing." She said, reaching over to kiss George's cheek. Then, with her usual perspicacity, she asked, "So what's up with you and Mum, George?"

He didn't speak at first. "You mean…" He finally said, gripping the side of the bed tightly. "Other than the fact that she still wishes it were me?"

Anyone else in the family would have slapped him upside the head, totally dismissing his feelings. Ginny was always the smartest one. "She wishes it weren't either of you." She corrected. "She thinks Fred's death is her failure, and you remind her of it. She doesn't mean to."

"Be nice if you were right, Gin." George sighed, and got up, lifting her with him. "But I can't even talk to her about it…she won't spend time with me alone. Maybe it is just that looking at me hurts her too much…but her avoiding me, hurts me." George bit his lower lip painfully.

"I know." She hugged him. "Maybe having Alfred about will help change that." Ginny paused. "Did Katie really name him that because he was 'Alf Fred?"

George laughed, quietly. "Aye. Old joke from the Yule Ball." He sighed. "I so wish Katie had come forward earlier…all she said in her letter was that it was better for Alf that she didn't. But she knew Voldemort was gone. I just don't understand."

Ginny shrugged. "Get some sleep, George. Done is done, and now is now. And tomorrow is another day."

He watched her leave, and then headed into his old bed. It was good, so good, to listen to Alf's steady breathing, and to know that he wasn't entirely alone anymore.

WWWWWWW

In his dream George was strolling through the grounds at the burrow. An occasional gnome peaked out from a bush, or darted across the pathway, but except for a well-aimed kick at one who got rather close, George paid them no mind. He headed, with purpose, to the highest point on the grounds, where stood a lone gnarled tree, and a headstone in memorial. Fred's grave.

Only, as he somehow expected, when he got there Fred dropped from the tree (a favorite childhood haunt of theirs) and landed behind him. "Boo!"

"Boo!" George replied with disdain. "Honestly, Fred, ten years a ghost and that's the best you could do? Peeves was never that trite!"

"Oi! Compare me to PEEVES, will you!" Fred tackled him, and for a few moments they laughingly wrestled in the tall grass on top of Fred's grave.

But not long. They pulled apart and lay, side by side, staring up at the impossibly blue sky with the perfect puffy clouds that was literally the stuff of dreams.

"Miss you." George said, quietly.

"Then why don't you visit more, idiot?" Fred said, sounding faintly put out. "Like this, I mean. Instead of that horrific stuff where you relive the last battle…or dream of my being eaten by the giant squid when we were kids, or of Umbridge cursing me into oblivion seventh year…"

"Alright!" George passed his hand over his face. "Alright, Fred…I know. I don't mean to be morbid, I don't, but till now it just never seemed possible to dream like this."

"Ah." Fred rolled over on his side to look down at George. "You got Alfred, then?"

George raised an eyebrow. "You knew?"

"Not till I was dead, of course. Rather late in the day then, unfortunately." Fred smiled. "Looks like me, the handsome bloke!"

"Like me, you mean…only with two ears." George added. "And a tad quieter."

Fred scoffed. "He's been there one day surrounded by the entire Weasley Wizarding World, ™. Give him time…he'll be lighting dung bombs in your office within a week, I bet."

"I certainly hope so!" George's face lit up at the prospect of a worthy adversary.

There were a few moments of companionable silence…George had forgotten what it was like to have someone beside you with whom no words were needed. Not that just laying about as children would have been something they'd have done much of, unless it was to think up new forms of mischief. Fred broke the silence.

"Don't take Mum too much to heart, Bro." He spoke gently. "She does love you."

"Right." George said, without any inflection. "I can tell."

Fred just sighed, then stuck his head up, listening intently. "You're needed."

George also sat up. From far away he could here the voice of a child crying out in its sleep. "Alf!" He stood quickly, and looked down at Fred.

"Knew he was in good hands." Fred's smile was radiant, if his eyes betrayed some concern. George nodded once, and sprinted ahead, and out of his dream.

WWWWWWWWWWW

George sat upright in bed and quickly looked over towards Alf. The boy wasn't being loud by any means but he was thrashing about under the covers, face twisted in fear and muttering in his sleep.

"No…stop it…don't kill her…don't…I can't mum…I can't stop Voldemort. I'm not LIKE Harry Potter…stupid wand!"

George went over and sat on the bed beside him, gingerly sliding down next to his nephew and stilling him. The boy's eyes opened at once and he looked right at George. "I'm not GOOD ENOUGH." He gasped.

"Course you are." George slung an arm around him, pulling him close and stroking gentle circles on his back. "And Voldemort's dead, Alf. Can't hurt anyone anymore."

Alf began to steady himself, breathing more slowly. "thoughthewaskillingmum." He muddled. "Wand wouldn't work for me. Mum said if I was good like Harry it would work."

"Hush." George snuggled him closely; Alf buried his head against George's chest. "First off nobody, and I mean nobody, is as bloody good as your Uncle Harry. Second, thanks to your Uncle Harry, Voldemort is dead and gone. Last, when your Uncle Harry was your age, he couldn't do magic any better than you." George kissed the boy on the top of the head. "Back to sleep with you, Alf. Don't ask me to sing, now; I was never the melodic one. Better dreams this time."

Despite his words, George did start to hum lightly…of all things, the Hogwarts school song, in the dirge melody he and Fred had always preferred. He kept up rubbing Alf's back, and could feel the tension ease out of the boy as his breathing became more regular. But one thing didn't ease; as George attempted to slide away, he realized Alf had a death grip on his pajama top.

"Not fighting fair, are you?" George grumbled, with a smile. And he settled in to sleep himself, feeling whole once more.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note: Thanks again to everyone for the kind reviews. For anybody who finds Molly out of character for the next few chapters, just a gentle reminder that I really do have a plan and an explanation, so bear with me-I promise it will be worth it!

WWWWWWWWW

George finally did extricate himself from Alf's grip early in the morning. He stretched and twisted his head around, rolling his neck. The beds had been comfortable when he was a youngster, and the way Alf was sleeping it seemed perfectly so still for a ten year old, but that ship had long passed for him! Smiling at his sleeping nephew, he headed down the stairs with a spring in his step. The new day was before him, and he was more aware of it than he had been in years.

The kitchen was empty, although Molly had clearly begun to assemble breakfast. George glanced through the window and caught sight of his mother in the garden, probably checking for fresh tomatoes. He smiled at her, though with a slight twinge remembering last night. After pouring himself tea, he turned to the floo, to firechat with Ron.

"George!" Hermione beamed at him. In the background he could hear little Hugo fussing. "You look wonderful."

"Of course I do." George pretended to be insulted. "I am a stunningly handsome man!"

Hermione laughed, placing her hand before her mouth in a familiar gesture. "Of course you are. Please accept my apology if I implied anything else!" She smoothed her hair back. "Ron figured you'd be calling about now."

"Bless me, he's started thinking, has he!" George quipped. "And what did Dear Ron figure I'd be calling for?"

"He's assuming you'd be telling him you'd not be going in to open this morning. Going to head that way himself, open up for you and set up Aurora and Verity." Hermione's eyes softened. "He rather fancied you'd like a day off."

"Always knew he was good for something." George turned, hearing footsteps coming down the creaking stairs. "Look, Mi, tell him to send word if he really needs me, but he more than knows what he's doing." A great relief that. "I want to get everything with Alf settled sooner rather than later."

"Of course you do." A wail interrupted them. "And your youngest nephew is getting pretty temperamental about his delayed breakfast, so if you'll excuse me…"

"Have yourself a grand day, Hermione." George said, and pulled his face out of the fire.

Alf stood behind him, mouth open. He had gotten dressed, simple jeans and a tee shirt, ratty sneakers, but he was motionless in the doorway, running his hands through his hair.

George raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Um…er…nothing." Alf closed his mouth, and headed towards the table. "Um… doesn't that hurt?"

"Not a bit." George grinned. "Although you are not to try it until you learn how."

Alf shook his head. "Nobody I know with a fireplace like that!"

George poured Alf pumpkin juice. The boy eyed it suspiciously for a moment, and then took a careful taste. He grimaced slightly.

"I quite agree with you on that." George sat across from him, slicing from a loaf of bread. "Muggle orange juice has it beat all over, but don't tell my Mum."

"George Weasley, do not disparage pumpkin juice…it's very good for you." Molly came in, a basket floating behind her filled with fresh vegetables. She smiled at Alf. "Good morning, dear." She headed towards the sink. "Had your tea already, did you, George?" She said, sounding slightly forced.

"I have, Mum, thank you." George groaned inwardly. Could they be any more formal?

Molly began chopping furiously with her wand, while with another motion she filled a bowl of oatmeal and sent it over, express to Alf.

"Thank you, m'am." Alf said, politely.

"Pft, I am your Nana, darling." She beamed down at him, then went back to the vegetables. "So, George…I assume you will be leaving Alf here when you leave for work?"

George buttered his bread and reached for the jam. "Not going in to work today, Mum. I thought spending time with Alf was rather more important." He winked at Alf, who beamed back at him. "Besides, as you pointed out, I am not actually prepared to have a young man move in. I'll be needing to get some provisions."

"Hmph." Molly's want flew double time; onions leapt in protest. "Not terribly responsible of you, ignoring your work."

"Advantage of being your own boss." George replied, somewhat tersely.

"Oh, of course, my successful son." She murmured. "Hogwarts dropout."

Alf watched the discourse back and forth more than a little worried. "Uncle George?" He interrupted quietly.

George bit back what he wanted to say…it wouldn't do any good, anyway…and turned to Alf, trying to keep calm. "Yes, kiddo?"

"Are there really lawn gnomes, like Mum told me about?" He asked, hoping to be a distraction from the impending fight.

"Loads of them!" George answered quickly.

"Can I see?" Alf crossed his fingers below the table.

George turned to his mother. "There you go, Mum…I'll just take Alf out and show him how to de-gnome the yard. First time you've ever had it done without the threat of death."

Molly just sniffed. "I hardly think Alf needs to be doing that…I used to make you do it to keep you out of mischief."

"Oh, I don't mind." Alf insisted. "It sounds like fun."

"You'll learn." George said, draining his tea. "But let's get to it, shall we? Out the back door there, go on." Alf scampered away, and George took a few steps behind him, before turning back to look at his mother. Remembering Fred last night, he tried. "Mum…"

"Go on, George, do what you want to…you always have."

He winced at her tone. "Well, anyway…Percy coming back for lunch?"

"Yes." He comes over from the ministry nearly every day, dear boy." Molly smiled to herself.

"Right then. I'll check in with him on what I need to do about Alf…he did take the papers to the ministry, right?"

Molly turned away towards the sink. "Percy…is handling everything."

George sighed. His mother really was never going to forgive him for being the twin who lived. He tried to tell himself that if it had been Fred who survived, he'd have faced the same iciness. He wasn't sure that was true, though. "Okay then…off to de-gnome…call us for lunch!"

After he was out the door, Molly held herself still for a moment. She glanced briefly back at George, and bit her lip. George looked so happy…could she really go through with this? No, she had to, she told herself. It was the right thing; she was really doing what was the best for everyone. Or at least for young Alfred.

WWWWWWWW

Ron surveyed the buzz happening around the shop with more than a little pride. He was amazed, not just at the brisk business, but at the way news traveled in Diagon Alley.

"Is it true? Did you find Fred had a SON?" Seemed to be the question of the day.

"More like he found us." Ron would reply, over and over again.

Several patrons wished George well in particular, which was gratifying. George was popular with everyone; eminently likeable as well as a sound business man. Ron knew that they also felt somewhat protective of him; the surviving Weasley twin with the missing ear. Everyone understood what he had gone through losing Fred, and everyone seemed to wish him happiness. _Almost everyone._ Ron thought, remembering his Mum last night.

His revelry was interrupted by the sight of a grown wizard gaping at some sight and stumbling over into a bin of pygmy puffs. "Oi there!" Ron called, wondering if the bloke was drunk at 10am. Then he saw his sister-in-law Fleur pass by. "Oh, that explains it. Sorry 'bout that." Such was usually the reaction to his stunningly beautiful, part Veela sister-in-law. Ron had once reacted much the same way. Fortunately for his marriage he'd got over it.

Once he did, he soon decided that despite Fleur's beauty he could never have really fallen for her. She was very feminine and very manipulative, in very subtle ways, and Ron had never really liked subtle. Give him his 'Mione, every time, who would flat out tell him what she wanted, when she wanted it, and why whatever Ron wanted wasn't practical.

"Dear Ron." Fleur looked at him with appeal, frowning. "I feel I must have a word with you in private."

Ron raised his eyebrows. That was actually exceedingly direct for Fleur, and spoke volumes for whatever had her concerned. "This way, then, Fleur." He led her towards the back rooms, and closed the door behind them.

Once inside, Fleur paced, her frown deepening. Ron remembered the first time he'd ever seen a Veela, and how they transformed when enraged into something beyond hideous and terrifying. He hoped he wasn't about to witness a family first here.

"Dear Ron…I have come about your nephew Alf."

"Is he well?" Ron started. He remembered the kid's rather nasty bruises that Fleur had helped cure; perhaps he'd had a bad reaction to the dragon-nettle oil?

"At this moment, he is fine. But…" She sat in the chair, flipping her hair behind her, and looked at Ron with calculation. "Last night, Ron, you seemed to be quite happy for George, that he had found Alfred."

"Alf found us, really." Ron said automatically. "And course I was happy. Shite, who wouldn't be?"

"Exactly." Fleur pursed her lips, the angry Veela threatening to come out. "And you also think it is a good thing, the right thing, that George will have custody of him?"

Ron blinked. "Honestly, Fleur, nothing else even seems sensible to me. He's Fred's kid. Who else should take care of him but George? Surely you agree?"

"Oh, I do, Ron." She nodded. "For Alf it will be good, because George will love him like a son, and he will get to know his father better than any other way. But it will be good, I think, for George as well. He has not been 'appy, Ron; I know this." She looked really angry now. "People sometimes think I am stupid because I am beautiful, but it is not so. I see how much George was hurt when Fred died. I see maybe better than others."

"Anyone who thinks you're stupid is a fool." Ron soothed. "And anyone who can't see George's heart was ripped out is a complete moron."

"So you see why I am angry this morning, then." Fleur laughed bitterly. "It has come as a surprise to me to find I am married to what you would call a complete moron!"

"Come again?" Ron stuttered out. "Bill, you mean?"

"Am I married to anyone else?" She stood once more, and began to pace.

"But Bill knows what George has been through?" Ron started, but Fleur cut him off.

"Then why, tell me, is my husband joining with your parents and with your brother Percy to cut him off from custody?" Fleur met his eyes with a flinty stare.

"I…what?" Ron blinked, and then it set in. "Percy took the papers to the ministry today. He thought by this afternoon there would be a hearing, but…" Ron felt anger rising. "What do you mean they're going to cut George out?"

Fleur nodded sharply. "Your mother…does not believe George is a fit guardian." She waited for Ron to absorb that. "Percy agrees. No surprise there; Percy is family but he is still what you call so charmingly a 'git'. But Bill agrees. And where Bill goes, Charlie will follow, if they get him to come back from Romania. Even your father…he was at our house this morning and I overheard him with Bill…is reluctant to leave Alf in George's care."

"BOLLOCKS." Ron spat out. "You saw last night how George got when he saw how Alf'd been treated! You saw how Alf only trusted George to take care of him. They've bonded to each other already…how could they NOT?" Ron was now the one pacing, under Fleur's approving glare. "If you tell me _Ginny_ agrees too…"

"They do not seem to have contacted Ginny…I understand she was taking little Lily in to the Doctor this morning, and Harry is in meetings with Minister Shacklebolt today. But I think, they have not contacted the Potters because they know that Ginny and Harry will not agree with them. The same reason they have not contacted you and Hermione. The same reason they all shut up whenever I walked into the room!"

Ron came up short. "How'd you find out, then?"

Fleur smiled. "They spoke in front of Victoire. Perhaps they thought she was only a child and would not understand them, but my daughter, like me, like you, is not a complete moron. She in fact was quite upset to think of her dear Uncle George to be so hurt by his own family."

"Over my dead body, Fleur." Ron grabbed his coat. "I'll send owls to Ginny and Harry…Percy goes to the house with Dad every day for lunch…can you find a way to convince Bill to be there as well?"

"You may have noticed I have ways of convincing Bill that what I want him to do is what he wants to do." She smiled.

"Right. We've got to confront this before it gets to a hearing. It's Mum's doing, Fleur; I know that. But I'll not let them do this to George. Yesterday was the first time he seemed fully alive in ten years. I couldn't help Fred, but I'm not letting them kill George again."

WWWWWWWWW

They were only halfway through the massive garden as George wondered if it wasn't nearing time for lunch. He'd left his watch inside. No matter…Mum never had a problem making herself heard.

"Look, Uncle George…I made that one go over the hedge." Alf said, excitedly, watching a gnome he'd just tossed.

"Spot on!" George said, coming up to put his hand on Alf's shoulder. They walked together towards the next infestation. "Can I ask you something, Alf?"

"Course." Alf looked over at him shyly.

"Your dream last night…what was that about?" George decided they should take a break by the Yew hedge. Alf nosed out a gnome, spun him viciously and let go, sending it sailing.

"Stupid, really." Alf shrugged. "You know Mum had cancer?"

"Yeah…that's a muggle…non magical disease, right?" George watched Alf carefully.

Alf went digging for another gnome, not able to look at George. "Cancer sort of eats you up inside. That's what Marky Andrews told me, anyway. Little things eating you up inside till you die. Well, last night I kind of mixed up all the story's mum had told me with her cancer. So it was like Voldemort made her sick, and I had her wand and I kept waving it and nothing happened, and Voldemort laughed at me because if I were as good as Harry Potter I'd be able to cure her." Another gnome went flying. Alf chewed on his lip as he watched it. "Dunno what it means."

George watched Alf, and then patted the bench next to him. Alf shuffled over and sat, slouched back.

"When your Dad died…" George spoke slowly. "I spent every minute of every day asking myself what I could have done to stop it. It was inconceivable to me that I shouldn't be able to save the life of somebody I loved like that." He laughed. "Hell, sometimes I still think like that, and it's been ten years." George crossed his arms defensively over his chest, long legs stuck before him. "Imagine that's what your dream was, really. You wanting to save her, you wishing that if she'd been around magic it would have. And Voldemort, because the cancer is evil, and Voldemort was probably the most evil thing your mum ever told you about." He turned and looked down at Alf, who was staring at the horizon without blinking. "But you couldn't have saved her, Alf. You couldn't have."

Alf blinked, and cleared his throat. "If she'd come back…to this world…to her world…would she have been saved?" Alf swallowed hard. "In her letter to me she said she left this world because of me, and I…and I…" He sniffed.

George wrapped an arm around Alf and pulled him in close. "Alf, she left me a letter too. And I am going to tell you everything honest as I know it, about muggle disease and wizard cures. . Wizards and Witches don't often get cancer, Alf. Mostly because we're so in tune with our bodies, with nature. But as I understand it, if a witch or wizard does get a muggle disease like that, it's pretty easily treated, caught early on. But your mum wrote me that she ignored the signs…too busy, maybe too scared. It happens, sometimes." He raised Alf's chin to look into his eyes. "By the time she found out she had the disease, even magic couldn't have cured her. We had an Aunt who passed of something similar. The disease eats out your magical core, and then the potions and spells, they just don't work anymore."

Alf blinked, and nodded. "Right then." He wiped his eyes, and sniffed once, but held together otherwise. "Why did she have to leave the wizard world because of me, Uncle George?" Alf asked, plaintively. "I know why she stayed away during the war, but why didn't she come back afterwards?"

"Dunno." George was honest, as he was as perplexed as Alf was. "Except that maybe she thought we wouldn't have accepted her after Fred died. Daft, really…but that might be it."

Alf took a deep breath. "Maybe." He grabbed George's hand. "You're Mum's not exactly the most…um…forgiving…person I've ever seen."

"Only when it comes to me." George said, shaking his head.

"Uncle George?" Alf broke the moment's silence, watching as a gnome snuck back into the yard.

"Alfred." George intoned in a so-serious-it-wasn't voice.

Alf set his shoulders and looked up at his Uncle, his blue eyes serious. "Can I stay?"

George blinked and was speechless for a moment, and Alf stammered on.

"I know I said yesterday that I wanted to go back, to the normal…er…muggle world. Even to a foster home. But I think I changed my mind. I…belong here. With you." His voice grew quieter, his eyes imploring. "So can I?"

George came around and knelt in front of Alf, taking the boy's hands in his and looking up into his face. "Alfred. Did you really think that once I had you there was a chance in hell of my letting you go? Do you think I would?"

Alf was studying him, so serious. Fred used to look at him like that sometimes, on their rare occasions of deep stillness. And Alf, never leaving his eyes, nodded once. "But you would, Uncle George."

George balked a little at that, but young Alf went on.

"If you really believed I wanted to go, if you really believed I would be happier there, if you really believed I would be safe there, then you would let me. Even if you didn't want to." Alf gave him a tiny smile. "That's why I want to stay."

George reached over to hug the boy. "You make me out to be far better a man than I am." He said, gruffly, then pulled back and mussed his hair. "But you're right…I would always want the best for you. It just happens that sticking around is what is best." He paused to look down at the muggle watch Alf was wearing.

"Lord, is that the time?" George gaped. "Your Uncle Percy must certainly be back for lunch by now. Why didn't Mum call?" He got up quickly and held his hand out to his nephew…his Alf…and flashed a quick smile.

"Race you to the door!" He smirked.

"No magic!" Alf threatened, then darted quickly past George.

"Oi, do you think you're a ruddy SEEKER?" George called out laughing, grasping and tickling Alf as he did, before passing him.

Alf repaid in kind, so it was perhaps with not quite maximum speed that they made their way back to the house.

WWWWWWWWW

Victoire stood on the porch by the kitchen, watching as her favorite uncle came running up with her new cousin. They were so happy, so very happy; she watched them playing and tackling each other as they made their way towards her. It made her want to cry, because although she didn't understand everything, she knew what was going on in the kitchen wasn't nice at all. And she didn't want to see Uncle George sad again.

"Gotcha!" George called out, laughing, sweeping Alf up off his feet as the boy squealed in mock indignation. Carrying him the last few steps, held over head like the Quiddich cup, George paused as he saw his eldest niece standing there. "Allo, Vicki dear…didn't expect to see you about."

"Mother has come by. So have Papa and Uncle Ron." She said, looking behind to the kitchen, and then pointedly at George. "They are having an argument, all of them."

George slung down a breathless Alf. "And how do you know it is an argument?" He asked, smoothing down Alf's hair.

"Because I cannot hear them." She said simply.

Ah. Alf looked puzzled, but George understood well. In a boisterous household like theirs, the only way you didn't hear a cacophony of voices was if a silencing spell was cast. And those were cast only when there were words that children weren't meant to hear.

"I think…" Victoire continued, staring at George with those silver eyes, "That you are meant to be in there with them, and that I should take Alf upstairs."

"Is everything okay, Uncle George?" Alf asked.

"It will be." He replied, firmly. "Every now and then us Weasleys just have to thump our chests a bit. Nothing to be concerned about. Now, upstairs with you guys…don't worry." He came in to the entry way and watched Victoire grasp a hesitating Alf by the wrist. "And no extendable ears!" He added, to Victoire's answering smile.

Then, steeling himself against the unknown, he went inside.


	6. Chapter 6

"Is everything alright?" Alf asked again, as they came up to a room Mrs. Weasley had converted to a play room for her grandchildren.

Victoire shrugged. "I don't know." She said vaguely. "But my Mother will take care of things." She smiled. "She likes you very much already."

Alf blushed, remembering last night and how kind Fleur was in wanting to help him. "She's pretty cool." Alf threw himself down into a slouchy chair that automatically molded itself to his body. Victoire sat on the floor opposite him, knees drawn up to her chin.

"Did you like Teddy?" She asked suddenly.

"Teddy?" Alf blinked…there had been so many names last night! "Oh, right…bloke about my age, changed his hair to different colors, came in with Uncle Harry. He seems nice. I…uh…kind of fainted before I could talk to him much."

"Yes…Uncle Harry is very famous. But very nice too, and very good to my Teddy." She smiled confidentially. "I am going to marry him, you know."

Alf was puzzled. "Um…but isn't he your cousin? Or is that okay in the wizard world?"

She smiled brightly. "He is Uncle Harry's god-son. His mother and father were killed in the war." She nodded sagely. "The same day as your father, I think."

"Oh." Alf realized with a frown that there were a lot of things he didn't know. Mum's stories were always great, except for the finish. She never had as much detail to tell them about how Voldemort was defeated. That made sense, now; because of Alf, she hadn't been around to see _how_ the story ended. "So Teddy and I have a lot in common."

"Yes." She nodded. "I hope you will be good friends, Alf. Teddy doesn't have very many friends."

Alf was surprised; his brief impression had been that Teddy seemed quite a decent sort, and funny too, with that ability to change his hair and face. Really neat trick, that! "Why?" He asked.

Victoire looked dreamy. "Because of his parents…his father, really. His mother was a…met-a-morphus." She paused over the word, struggling with it slightly. "That means she could change her appearance however she wanted to."

"Like Teddy!" Alf said, slightly envious.

"Right. He got that from her. But his father, Remus Lupin, was a WEREWOLF!" She said with wide eyes and heavy emphasis.

Alf, who had no idea what that really meant beyond a slew of muggle movies, and what his mother had told him about Remus Lupin as a teacher, said the only thing he could think of: "WICKED!" He smiled in delight.

Victoire looked startled at first, and then smiled at him. "So you don't think it means he's evil?"

Alf was puzzled. "Evil? Why would he be evil?" He shook his head. "If Uncle Harry is his god father, how could he be?"

"Oh, but people are so…so…stupid!" Victoire said, pouting with anger. "Other wizards will laud his father as a hero…but won't let their children play with Teddy. Like they look at my Dad funny." She turned her head to the side. "You know my Dad was attacked by the most famous werewolf of all?"

"Really?" Alf was intrigued. This explained Bill's rather unorthodox appearance, compared to the rest of the Weasley clan. "But he isn't one himself?"

"Oh, no…Fenrir Grayback mauled him when not transformed." She said, sagely. "And Teddy shows no sign of being one either."

"So what's the big deal, then?" Alf shrugged. "I didn't expect wizards to be as dumb as…well, as the people I'm used to. Muggles." He tried the word out tentatively.

"Mother says there are dumb people everywhere…" There was a sudden commotion from downstairs as the argument left the confines of the spell, followed by a huge bang of the screen door below, and Alf and Victoire both ran to the window to see a distraught Uncle George leave the house, running his hands through his hair and charging with purpose towards a distant knoll. "Even in your own family."

Alf felt a lump in his throat as he watched his Uncle head up to the hill to a gnarled old tree. The man sank to his knees, threw his head back, and raised hands to the sky.

The sound…the scream of anger and agony…seemed to shake the very windows of the house at the burrow. The sound of such suffering as Alf remembered feeling when he'd thought that George was the father who abandoned him.

He didn't need to see anything more to know where he belonged; without words he charged down the stairs, evaded the grasp of his Uncle Bill, aided by what seemed to be a block from a grim looking Uncle Harry, and dashed across the lawn to be with the person he knew, instinctively, needed him most.

WWWWWWWWWWWW

When George had arrived in the kitchen, conversation came to a halt abruptly. "Don't need to ask who you're speaking about, do I?" He quipped, grimly. He was puzzled, though; couldn't imagine what they could be talking about; he was better than he had been in ten years.

His brother Percy was avoiding his gaze. Bill looked on with sympathy and condescension, while Fleur and Ron were together, arms crossed and angry at something. His mother looked resolved, and stood by the kitchen table, wand in hand, chin jutted out in defiance. His father wouldn't meet his eye.

"Well." George said into the silence. "Anyone care to fill me in on the reason for this impromptu lunch gathering? Can I guess it has something to do with Alf?"

"Percy arranged a custody hearing this afternoon." Molly said quietly.

George sensed there was more. "That's great." He said, his tone saying frankly that he knew she hadn't told him half yet. "What do you need from me?" He stared Percy down.

Percy finally answered him. "To get out of the way."

George blinked, and looked around them. "I beg your pardon?" He said, his voice low and controlled.

"I don't think…" Molly started, and Bill held up his hand and finished for her.

"We don't think…" The eldest Weasley son said, with heavy emphasis on the first word. "That you are an appropriate guardian for Alfred. We are going to have Alf assigned to Mum and Dad for custody."

George felt like he'd just been sucker punched, and he exhaled with the shock of it. He looked around the assembly once more. "And all…all of you feel this way?" He asked in a voice that betrayed both anger and hurt.

"Like hell." Ron spat out. "Alf belongs with you, George. Any idiot can see that." Ron glared first at his mother and then at Bill.

A rush of warmth filled George towards his younger brother. How he and Fred had tormented Ron when he was a kid…and yet what a dependable friend he had become!

Fleur tossed her hair, her eyes stormy as an angry Mediterranean sea. "He is Fred's boy. Fred would have wanted George to care for him. We all KNOW this."

Molly wheeled on her. "Don't tell me what I know about my own children. What **I** know is that George can barely take care of himself, let alone a child!'

Wheeling towards his mother, George growled. "I have taken care of myself perfectly fine for ten years. I have a successful business and can more than financially provide for him…"

"Rub that in our face again!" Molly snapped, coming up to George's face, arms crossed and seething. "Think your father and I can't manage to support him?!"

George backed away, stunned. "That isn't what I mean and you know it…you BOTH know it!" He looked with pleading at his father, who continued to avoid his eye. "We all grew up just fine with you providing for us. But Alf is _my_ responsibility. Katie sent him to _me_!"

"Yes, but Katie didn't know what you'd become!" Molly stood toe to toe with her son. "She hasn't been watching you these past ten years…wallowing in your self pity and shutting yourself off from your family!"

"Oi!" Ron snapped, real rage at the accusation, but George quelled him with a hand. This was clearly between Molly and him; she had no doubt instigated this whole thing and it was going to have to come out now.

"I haven't been _wallowing _anywhere, Mum. I miss Fred." George hitched slightly. "I have always missed Fred and I always will. Just like everyone else here. And I don't think it's wrong for me feel that I have a right to miss Fred a little more than most." He folded his arms before him defensively. "But as to shutting myself off from the family, that isn't because of Fred. It's because of you."

Silence fell on the room. Molly paled slightly, lip trembling, but she pulled herself together, and without warning slapped George full in the face.

The imprint of her hand stood stark on the pale white of his cheek, but George managed a grim smile. "Admit it, Mum. Since the day Fred died you've been wishing it was me."

"George!" Arthur was aghast.

Molly, however, merely glared. "You always got him in to trouble. You always instigated everything, every time. The store; dropping out of Hogwarts. Going to pick Harry up in Arthur's flying car. Your idea, every time."

"Not every time." George responded. "But I don't expect you to believe that."

"Fred followed where ever you went. But not you…no…when he needed you where _were_ you? Off somewhere safe, while Fred was dying. He might have still been alive if you hadn't abandoned him.!" Molly turned, biting her hand hard.

George took one step back, a part of him dying all over. "Do you not think…that I haven't asked myself the same question for the past ten years, Mum?"

It was too much for Ron, who blew up angrily. "George was with _dad_, Mum. With Dad! Percy was going to go with Dad and the twins were going together, but they thought Dad wasn't so young and nobody knew how good Percy was! They were trying to save them!"

Stunned, George looked at Ron, tears in his eyes. "Didn't know you knew, Ron." His voice came out hollow.

Ron gave George a slight nod, looking embarrassed. "You talked…in your sleep…those first few weeks after it happened."

Swallowing, George looked from Percy to his father. "Fred and I flipped a coin." He said. "Dad…you hadn't been in heavy fighting for a while, and since you'd been attacked by Nagini, you seemed rather gun shy. And none of us had seen Percy throw a curse for three years…he'd been doing paperwork at a desk. We really believed that splitting up was the best way for all of us to survive."

Molly blinked, and Arthur finally looked to George, face numb. "I never knew…"

George shook his head…he hadn't been about to mention at the time, 'Hey, Dad, Fred and I think you're too old for this stuff and Percy's a stupid prat, so we're going to save your ass.' Hubris anyway, as it turned out. Percy had been more than a capable fighter. Of course…his mind wandered over that day. Dad really HAD needed his help; Arthur had fought fearlessly, but his reflexes were slow. By rights _George_ ought to have bought it; he had been the one fighting for two. Percy had, from what he'd heard, partnered Fred more than capably.

"Fred died…" Ron said forcefully. "Because of a freak incident. He didn't die because he wasn't capable, or Percy wasn't good, or because George wasn't there. IT JUST HAPPENED! It isn't anybody's fault but the bloody death eater who cast the curse."

Molly wheeled once more towards the group. "None of this matters, anyway. We all know that George can't have Alf, and that's that."

Rage boiled over inside George's gut. "NOBODY!' He exploded. "Is taking that boy away from me!"

"The courts will." Percy said, although he seemed abashed. "Once they see your files."

"MY WHAT?" George turned on him, face pinched with anger.

It was Bill who continued. "You tried to kill yourself, George." He said, not unkindly, but with firmness. "Or have you forgotten attempting to slit your wrists open with Griffindor's sword? Because I can assure you, I've never forgotten finding you in a pool of your own blood."

Recoiling slightly, George gaped. "That…was TEN YEARS AGO Bill. Ten years!" He blinked. "I had just had my brother, my best friend, ripped from my side. None of you ever understood what that did to me…I didn't know how to be JUST GEORGE." Tears flooded his eyes. "But don't you understand what changed that?" He looked from Fleur to Bill. "Victoire changed that. Me, living with you in the cottage and everyone watching me. And Victoire being born, so perfect, so beautiful. The moment I held her…" He implored over to Victoire's mother. "The moment I held her, I chose life. Life, not death. And every child…every niece or nephew since…has reinforced that. Every minute I spend with one of them brings laughter back to my heart." His voice broke, and he turned away.

Fleur came up to him with a hug. "I know, George. I have always known. And so have the children."

"Thanks." He croaked out.

"Bully for you." Molly snapped, though her resolve seemed just slightly shaken. She stared at her surviving twin, and pulled herself together, as if it was costing her all of her resolve. "But I am not letting George kill Fred again! Do you know how Wizard Law regards suicide, George? We hushed it up at the time, but if they knew what you'd done, you'd spend the rest of your life in St. Mungo's."

Ron turned in horror. "Mum…you couldn't!"

There was silence, and George met his mother's eye. "Oh, I think she could, Ron." He said, softly, feeling all hope falling from him. It was true…wizard law regarded anyone who would try to take their own life…even if the attempt had been ten years ago…as lower than criminal. He'd never set foot outside St. Mungo's again. If he tried to fight their custody coup, his mother would have him committed. "Neat little bit of blackmail, mum. You should have been in Slytherin."

"Your happiness…" Molly said, trying to sound calm. "Will not come at the expense of that child's safety. I made that mistake once."

Hollowness filled George; he had wondered once whether anything could have been worse than losing Fred, and now he learned that there was. No pain could be greater than this. "Tell me, mum…did you ever love me at all?" He asked, wearily.

Something like fear came into Molly's eyes, something George couldn't understand, and her mouth worked furiously. But George wouldn't take his eyes off her until she answered.

"No." She whispered. "I never could."

"Molly!" Arthur gasped, into the stunned silence of the room.

George blinked. "Funny." He said, pale to his lips. "I've always known, and yet it still hurts."

Suddenly stifled by the very essence of the room, he turned, his face crumpling in agony, and ran, barely registering the voices that called out to him, or that at some point Ginny and Harry had arrived. He knew a group followed him; he sensed that Harry told them to back off, but he didn't care; he could only run, run for the hill and for Fred's grave, for the one person who he needed more than anything now, and the one person he could never have.

WWWWWWWWWWW

"MOTHER!" Ginny expostulated once, as they heard a heart rending bellow come from George, out on the grounds. "What exactly are you playing at?"

Before anyone could answer, Alf came thundering down the stairs. Bill went to grab him, and Harry blocked Bill with a move that was more beater than seeker.

"Mum…" Ron said, still seething. "Has gone off her rocker, Gin."

"Has she?" Ginny, the only one in the family who'd ever had a chance of standing up to their mother, matched her glare without wavering. "What is this ridiculous notion that you don't love George, Mum? Because it is nonsense, always has been…if anything, under all that fake gruffness, I rather thought you favored him!" She snapped.

"Ginny!" Molly's mouth was open, almost horrified by the accusation of favoritism. "You never had twins. You don't understand. There are…rules…to George. I know what I'm doing."

"BOLLOCKS!" Ginny yelled, her fearsomeness almost wild. "The principle rule of motherhood is to love your children. I learned that from you. And you always did, Mum…you may have been a bit sharper with George than the rest of us, but you never fooled me." She shook her head. "Trouble is ever since the day Fred died, you look at George and think you failed Fred. Every time George sits down to dinner, the guilt consumes you. Don't deny it!"

Molly turned away, her shoulders shaking. "Oh, Go away, Ginny…just go away. Done is done…I can't change any of it now…I just want to save Alfred this time…just let me save _one _of them!" She held back a sob.

Ginny shook her head. "All of you…" she looked over at Bill, her father, Percy, gathered at one side… "Do you all claim to not love George any more, or all place no value on the fact in the past twenty-four hours he's clearly been happier than in the past ten years entire?"

Bill spoke for the group. "Of course we care about George, Ginny." He spoke in a low voice. "But Alf is a child, and he needs…"

"HE NEEDS GEORGE!"

The scream echoed in the room like a proclamation, and all turned around. For the first time people realized that however angry Ginny was, it was _nothing_ to the rage so clearly evident in the face of her husband. Harry's eyes were dark green and his face flushed; his hair was on end from having run his hands through in frustration.

The entire room now turned to him, and he trembled with rage as he went on. "None of you have any idea what Alf is going through. To grow up a little different in a household where you weren't quite wanted. To discover that there is a whole world out there you never even knew about, a place where you belong. The boy has lost a mother and lost all chance of a father, and he FOUND GEORGE." Harry paced in the kitchen, and then abruptly punched the wall; Ginny reached over to him with tears in her eyes. Harry swallowed hard.

"Years I had wishing for real parents. All because I was some stupid pawn in a game I didn't ask to play, and because Dumbledore had a plan. Years I had to spend family time with the Dursleys when I could have been with Sirius. I know why; I know it had to be. But there isn't a moment in my life when I don't wish it could have been different." Green eyes flooded with unshed tears looked at Molly. "You would have taken me in, I know…but you weren't my parents; you barely knew them. And it wouldn't have ever been the same."

Harry looked about. "Sirius would have loved me…like a father. My parents knew that, and that's why they chose him as a god-father. I love Teddy every bit as much as I love James and Albus, and he knows I am a direct link to the father he will never have the chance to know." Harry shook his head. "I don't care what it looks like on paper, George is the only person who can be what Alfred _needs_."

Ron came over, and stood beside Harry. Rather awkwardly he put his hand on his shoulder. "Wish I coulda done something, mate."

Harry blinked and nodded as Ron moved away. "You did…you and Mione. But I needed Sirius."

Percy spoke awkwardly. "That record…" He started.

Harry whirled around. "There is NO RECORD!" He looked from Arthur to Molly, frowning. "Don't you remember? George in the hospital with the bleeding wrists, and you were terrified…" He looked at Molly with meaning. "Terrified of losing him too. You asked for my help, because you knew at that moment nobody would deny me anything!" Harry crossed his arms. "I took care of it. I didn't just bribe people, you know. I obliterated the file, and I obliviated every doctor who treated George, any staff member who came in contact with him. There isn't anybody outside of this room who knows George tried to slit his wrists. Don't make me obliviate you too!"

Ginny hugged Harry hard, and he repeated himself. "There is no record. And if you pursue this nonsense, I will make my opinion known at the ministry. I've never traded on my reputation before, but I think I could make an exception this time." His eyes misted over once more. "I beg of you not to, though. After everything this family has been through, don't let something as miraculous as finding Alfred destroy it."

Letting go of Ginny, Harry bent down and kissed her on the head, before he turned and walked out the door towards George.

WWWWWWWWWW

The sobs broke from George, as he moved his arms from reaching to the sky to fold them over her chest. He rocked back and forth on his brother's grave, completely lost. _Why, Fred…why me? Why did you leave me alone to face this? Does it never get better?"_

"Oh, God!" He moaned, sinking forward, so his chest was on his knees and his head was nearly on the ground of his twin's grave. "It should have been me…" He sobbed out. "You had a son. If it had been me Katie would have come back and you'd have married her…and Alf would have had a father…and mum could have mourned me politely before returning to the children who mattered to her! It should have been ME!"

He wasn't aware that he wasn't alone until he felt a hand on his back…Alfred, comforting him in much the same way he had comforted the child last night. George tried desperately to calm himself, but he couldn't; the thought of losing Alf consumed him. Because he knew, with his parents having custody and that nice little scene back at the house, that he'd be as welcome to hang around as Argus Filch with spattergoit.

"I don't think he'd want it to be you." Alf said. And then more pointedly. "And you matter to _me_."

George found himself embracing the boy; accepting the child's unconditional hug, and somehow choking down his agony as he rocked him close. "I can't lose you…I can't."

"You won't." Alf said. And then, perhaps realizing what was going on, asked fearfully, "Are they trying to send me away?"

"No…no…they are trying to send me away…keep me away from you." George stopped, breathing in the scent of Alf's hair, hoping to memorize it. "They think I will be a bad influence."

Alf's indignation was immediate. "Bollocks!" He exclaimed. "Sorry, sir…but that's just stupid. I'd still be stuck in that Alley tied to the bloody sidewalk if not for you." He took a deep breath. "We BELONG."

They did; George knew it in his heart; had known it from the moment Alf had walked into his life. "They have…" He took a deep breath. "They know things about me that would make a judge not…not…let me have you." He looked down at Alf's worried face. "I'm sorry, Alf, but I am going to lose you."

Alf froze in his arms. "Why? What could you have done?"

George held out a wrist, where a faint line could still be seen. "The day of your dad's funeral I did this. People kept calling me Fred, by accident. Mum wouldn't even look at me. Harry, Ron and Mione were consumed with exhaustion. Ginny was trying to keep Harry sane. I lost my place, here…my place in the family, and I just wanted the pain to end. Didn't think it would matter to anyone."

The frown that graced Alfred's face was mixed with confusion. "But that was ten years ago. You're loads better now."

George sighed. "That won't matter to a judge, Alf. If I contest their custody of you, they will put me in the ward for the incurably insane. I am over a barrel, as it were."

Alf looked bland for a moment. "Everybody thinks that?"

"Not Ron or Fleur. Not sure about Ginny or Harry, but I would have thought they'd be on my side." George laughed mirthlessly. "Course I'd have thought that about my Dad, too."

"Then let's leave." Alf said, quietly.

"What?" George asked, not sure he heard right.

Alf nodded. "You're a wizard, Uncle George. Pick me up and take us away from here, like you did in Diagon Alley yesterday. We'll find a place where they'll let us be."

George wiped the tears from his face, and stared down at this boy, who at the moment seemed to be literally all Fred. "I am not sure they would let us be. They are wizards too."

Alf crossed his arms defiantly. "You're smarter than them...mom thought so. Except for maybe Hermione, but she's on our side, right?"

George was thinking. "Viktor Krum in Bulgaria…" He murmured. "I always kept up with him…did him a few good turns once. He'd help out. And Bulgaria's one of those places where you can get pretty lost."

"Then what are we waiting for…" Alf rose, tugging George up. "If we go back there, they'll stop you from doing it…oh, let's just go!"

George looked down, and laid his hand on Alf's shoulder. Slowly he smiled; Alf understood and hugged him close…

"Don't do it George!" Harry stood before them suddenly, wand out.

Alf glared at Harry; George had his wand out as well. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't!" George said, gripping Alf tighter.

"Because it completely wastes the tantrum I just had in your kitchen where I clearly announced that nobody was taking Alf away from you, full stop." Harry lowered his wand and watched as George warily did the same.

"Harry…" George said, his voice shaking… "If you're lying to me…"

Harry shook his head. "I promise you, on the grave of _my_ god-father, that I am not." He came forward, and laid a hand on George's shoulder. "I know better than anyone where Alfred belongs, George. Gin agrees with me. I believe you already know how Ron, and by extension Hermione, and even Fleur, feel."

George sank back down to the ground on weak legs; Alf sank with him, still watching Harry with concern. "I won't lose him." He repeated, looking at Harry imploringly.

"No, you won't." Harry smiled, and sat down beside them. "That little incident ten years ago was fully taken care of at the time, by yours truly. Not that I ever thought your family would try to use it as blackmail; more like Rita Skeeter seeking a story. But I made sure that there is no evidence left that you were having a rather bad time of it the day of Fred's funeral."

George exhaled, deeply, and Alf felt safe to relax. Harry continued with a smile, "Besides, I didn't give you the money for that joke shop only to see it left in Ron's hands. He's a good businessman, but doesn't have your vision."

"Ron's alright." George immediately defended the brother who was now clearly favored. He looked back towards the house, with a frown. "Mum is going to be very unhappy about this."

"Ginny is handling her. I don't know why she's gone of the deep end, George, but she DOES love you…I remember the look on her face the night your ear got blown off." Harry shrugged. "Still, I think it advisable for everyone for you to vacate The Burrow for the time being, if only for your own sanity."

Alf looked up at George. "We can go back to your place. I don't need much, Sir."

"Quit-it with that Sir stuff." George said, feeling the heaviness leaving his heart, as he ruffled Alfred's hair.

Harry smiled at them, even if it caused him a pang of wistfulness. "I thought you might want to come to Godric's Hollow for a bit." He suggested. "Ron can run the shop while you get your lives set up together. And I've got Teddy for the summer…he'd like having a mate his age…who…well…" He drained off.

Alf finished the sentence: "Isn't a prejudiced git?" Seeing the surprise on both Uncle George and Harry's face, he explained. "Victoire told me."

George set his shoulders. "I'll take you up on that, then, Harry. Is it safe for Alf down there?" He nodded towards the house.

Raised eyebrows were his answer. "Would YOU cross Ginny when she's angry?"

George laughed, then looked down at Alf. "Go on ahead, kiddo. Get your stuff so we can head over to friendlier territory." Seeing Alf hesitate, George put both hands on his shoulders. "It will be okay…I promise. I will be fine."

Alf flashed him a grin and gave him a hug; then turned and hugged Harry as well. "Mum was right…you are a great wizard." With that he took off down the hill.

"And the legend of Harry Potter continues!" George smirked, prompting Harry to swipe at his head. They shared a laugh, albeit a tired one, and walked more slowly towards the house.

"Seriously, Harry…" George added. "Thanks. I never was much in favor of Bulgaria."

Harry smiled. "Makes me wonder where I'd have ended up if I'd been allowed to run away with Sirius. I think he was in the Sahara."

"H'm, not a wise choice with our pale skin." George sighed. "I should have known you'd understand." He added.

"When Ron owled me to let me know what was afoot, I am afraid I caused rather a scene in Shacklebolt's office." Harry frowned. "I know nobody ever spoke up for me because there were always reasons why I had to stay in my own personal hell. But damned if I was going to let that happen to the child of a good friend."

"Brother." George said, correcting him. "You were always an honorary Weasley."

Raised eyebrows answered him. "Makes the situation with Ginny rather tetchy, then, eh?"

This time it was George who cuffed Harry round the head.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's note: Many thanks to everyone enjoying the story. Several folks have praised my speed at updating. I have a confession to make; the story is mainly completed on my end. I am breaking it up in chapters and tweaking it as I post, but I don't want anyone to think I am getting home from work and coughing up 9-11 pages from scratch each night. Even JK Rowling wasn't THAT good…

WWWWWW

Hours later, George sat on the back porch at Godric's Hollow. Dinner was over, and Alf and Teddy were tearing around the back yard tossing a quaffle. No magic involved…Alf wasn't ready to get on a broom, after all. Besides, this way they were able to involve four year old James in their game, much to his extreme delight. Teddy's hair at the moment was a shade of red to match Alf's, though his frame was smaller and stockier. If you looked from a distance, you might mistake them for twins.

Ron and Hermione had come for dinner that evening, with their brood. Hermione had been watching them during the afternoon's confrontation.

Ginny pressed a glass of fire whiskey into George's hand, kissing him on the cheek gently. "You're an angel, Gin." He said, scooting over on the old-fashioned porch swing to make room for her. He paused as she sat next to him, holding little Lily in her arms, feeding her. He couldn't help but chuckle. "What?" She said, sliding her eyes over to him.

"When you were born, Gin, Fred and I were so put out. We wanted more boys, and twins at that." George admitted.

"Heaven help the house, if that had happened." She quipped, rubbing her finger against her daughter's face.

"Heaven help ME." George replied. "If I'd been without you, and Ron, and Harry. Don't know if I've ever properly thanked you for everything you've done for me these years."

Ron and Hermione joined them, along with Harry, who'd just set down Albus, "Don't forget Fleur." Ron added. "She was the one alerted me...never seen her so angry, I thought she'd turn someone to stone!"

Hermione gave a determined "Hmph" but with a mostly playful glare.

"Lord…" George laughed, softly at first, and then with more insistence. Ginny was startled, at first, then worried…it had been so long since George had really laughed like that. Seeing their confusion, George explained. "I am just imagining…what it would be like to be BILL right now!"

This time the laughter was shared.

WWWWWWWWWW

It was a nice little room at the house in Godric's Hollow, Alf thought. It was the attic room, fitted up with two twin beds on either side of a dormered window, that he was sharing with Uncle George. Uncle Harry was in the process of doing an addition to the house, but for now Teddy was bunking in with James, while Albus still was in the nursery with Lily. Besides, it seemed to have been a silent agreement that George and Alfred shouldn't be separated, at least not right now.

He liked that, really. Although he'd always had a room of his own, he felt rather, well, uncertain at the moment, and just knowing Uncle George was nearby made him feel better. Kind of strange, when you thought about it...they'd only known each other for less than two days. But the connection was there, something he'd recognized right away, even if his first reaction had been a misguided anger at what he'd thought had been abandonment. It was a lot of family to digest at once, of course, but just having Uncle George stand beside him seemed to soothe him, even without a touch passing between the two.

Still, it was a lot of change in two days. He lay in bed now, listening to his Uncle's steady breathing. The last thing the man had said to him before going to bed himself had been very simple: "If you need anything _at all_, I'm right here." It made him feel warm inside; he'd always wished he'd had a father who wanted him around, somebody who could be strong for him. Mum had been great, but she'd been pretty sick for the past two years, and as the oldest and the responsible one, Alf had found himself having to act almost adult, sometimes. Uncle George wasn't his father, but that didn't seem to matter one bit.

So why was he still awake? What stupid worries nibbling at the corner of his brain wouldn't just let him accept his damned good fortune and revel in it? Why was he so afraid all this would end, maybe as quickly as it had happened?

_Because it's happened before._

Alf turned over and stuffed his head under his pillow, trying to will the sarcastic voice out of his head. It was his own voice, the darker side of himself, that put him down, reminded him that there just wasn't something quite right with him and never had been. _Go away._ He argued with himself. _There's nothing wrong with me! Everyone here likes me!_

_That's because they don't know you yet._ The ugly voice answered.

Alf huffed into his pillow, swallowing hard. And against his will memories, ones both good and painful, came to him. He didn't really remember life before his sister Liv; he'd been two when she was born. But he remembered that once upon a time, Billy Woodruff had loved him. Well, liked him, anyway. When Liv was just a baby, he remembered Billy carrying him about on his shoulders, calling him "big guy" as he proudly showed off his new daughter to friends. He remembered Billy popping him up onto the bar at the restaurant, tickling him under the chin and making him laugh. Billy buying him his first football and kicking it about with him. He'd never called the man Dad, but he'd been allowed... encouraged...to call him Billy. He remembered being part of a happy little family, with Mum laughing and a toddling Liv grinning up at him, reaching over to his outstretched arms as she'd learned to walk.

Then Len was born, and it all changed.

It had confused him, at first. Billy didn't pick him up anymore. Billy didn't play with him anymore. He snapped angrily at him a lot, like Alf couldn't do anything right. When Alf went to him with a scraped knee, he was told to stop sniveling like a child when it wasn't hardly bleeding at all. And then there had been the terrible day when he'd gone to hug Billy, and Billy had picked him up, sat him hard in a chair, and told him flat out that he wasn't his son, wasn't ever going to be his son, and should start acting more grateful for the home and less demanding of his time. Not that he'd understood the whole scolding he'd received...but he'd understood what mattered. Billy didn't like him anymore. There must be something wrong with him.

It didn't help that Mum clearly thought something was wrong with him too.

Oh, Mum loved him, that he knew. Quite a lot in fact. And she'd go out of her way to praise him, to encourage him over any little thing he might accomplish. But Alf had eyes in his head, and right around the time when Billy decided that his step-son was superfluous, he would feel Mum watching him. Like she was expecting...something. He never knew _what_, though, which frustrated him to no end. Did she expect him to throw tantrums and break things, because his stepfather wouldn't teach him to ride a bike? That hadn't made sense to him, yet the day Billy had refused roughly to help him, he remembered her eyes on him, waiting, watching, for him to do _something_.

He'd hoped that by being as good as he could, he'd make those funny, hidden glances stop. So no matter how hurt he was when Billy was ignoring him, no matter how angry he got at Len getting so much attention, or, when Len got older, at how his little brother delighted in tormenting him; no matter _what_, he didn't act out. He was the perfect big brother, the thoughtful one, the responsible one. He helped out at the restaurant without complaint even when Billy berated his work, he got excellent grades at school. He didn't see how he could be any more _good._

And still he had this feeling that there was something about him that disappointed Mum. Those funny looks didn't stop, the expectation that he should be doing something...but nobody would tell him what...didn't stop. Then, after everything happened, and she'd died, and sent him that letter...she said he was different. Well, like he hadn't figured **that** out before. Yet again, nobody seemed to want to explain to him _how_ he was different.

And now, here he was. With an Uncle that seemed to think that he was the best thing that had ever happened to him. For now. But...did Uncle George know he was different? Did he know _how_ he was different? Could he help him, well, _not be_ different? Or maybe being different was okay with Uncle George, the same way it was okay that Teddy Lupin's dad was a Werewolf. Maybe he should wake Uncle George up now, and tell him the ten thousand stupid things that were on his mind, and then Uncle George could laugh at him and tell him he was being silly, that Uncle George wasn't going to go away on him, like Mum had, or like Billy for all intents and purposes had. No matter how different Alf was, it was going to be okay.

_Right, that's smart._ Alf's negative voice said._ Wake the man up from a sound sleep to whine about nothing. Sure he'd love that._

Alf argued with himself. _He told me he was there if I needed anything...anything at all. And I woke him up last night and he didn't get mad!_

Mr. Negative had an answer...he always did. _You didn't wake him up on purpose last night. If you're going to be waking him up on purpose, you should probably be bleeding or sick. But hey, go ahead, wake him up...it will just make him get tired of you faster._

Alf turned again, huffing up at the ceiling, biting his trembling lip and hugging himself hard. Not again, he thought. He's not going to let it happen again. He would be perfect...he would be! He wasn't going to give Uncle George any reason at all to be angry with him, ever, and he wasn't going to be different, and he wasn't going to get sent away!

Beyond him, he heard Uncle George mumble in his sleep. "Music in the WoWo's, Fred? Of course...brilliant...I'll get right on that as soon as I get back to the shop...if I remember. Maybe Alf can help me...nice kid. Must be Katie..." And he chuckled, rolled over, and went right back to sleep.

_Music in the WoWo's...check. I'll bring it up some time, shall I, Uncle George?_ Alf forced himself to relax. Unlike Billy, or even Mum, really, Uncle George seemed to **need** him. Maybe that was going to be the difference, this time. But better off not waking the poor man tonight. He was just being stupid, nothing to worry about.

Taking a deep breath, he waited for that negativity, but nothing happened, though he could feel it lurking in the corners of his mind. He slowly exhaled, and forced himself to relax, and finally he gave in to sleep.

WWWWWWWWWW

Lunch time the next day saw George alone in Harry and Ginny's house, watching the kids. Harry had gone in to the ministry, and Ron and Hermione had returned to their own house the evening before.

That morning, a weary looking Ginny had been trying to scoop out breakfast for four boys, plus George, while balancing Lily. George immediately took stock of the situation, getting up and grasping his niece. "Let me feed her, Gin." He offered.

She handed over the bottle with gratitude, and began to clean up the kitchen.

Lily seemed to regard him with curiosity. She had Harry's eyes and Ginny's dark red hair. "You are going to be a great beauty Miss Lily!" George cooed. "Breaking hearts all over Gryffindor tower, just like your Mum."

"Har!" Ginny yelled from the kitchen. "I hardly got the chance, with you lot watching my every move!"

"But Mum was always with Dad!" James protested, arms crossed.

"Now who told you that pretty nonsense…your Mum had dozens of boyfriends!" George corrected, burping Lily against his shoulder.

"Three!" Ginny corrected. "Michael, Dean, and Harry." She came in drying her hands. "And if Harry weren't so bloody stupid it would only have been one!"

Albus giggled. "Mum called Daddy stupid!"

George was watching his sister as she fussed with the brood. She had played professional quidditch for four years before marrying Harry and having James. She wrote freelance articles for The Quibbler (which had gotten much less sensational after the War, once Luna took over). But today she just looked…tired. Like a young mother in desperate need of a day off.

"Ginny…" George said. "Why don't you go do something nice for yourself?"

"Huh?" She asked, wiping oatmeal off of Albus' face.

"Go on…head in to Hogsmead. Lavender Brown opened that day spa there, didn't she? Go on, get your hair done or something…have lunch." George encouraged her.

Ginny put her hands on her hips. "Are you implying, George, that I am not STILL a great beauty?"

He stood up and placed Lily in the playpen by the table. "I am implying that you ought to take advantage of having an adult at your disposal." He knelt before the playpen, poking Lily and making her coo and smile, as he added one more shot. "Unless, of course…YOU don't think I'm capable?"

"George Weasley!" Ginny turned, eyes flashing. "How can you suggest I would think such a thing after everything that happened yester…" She caught, too late, the twinkle in his eyes. "OH, HONESTLY, George!" She smacked him with the dish towel, and he started to laugh, ducking away as she chased him around the kitchen. "That wasn't a remotely funny thing to say!"

"On the contrary…" He grinned openly, ducking around a chair and trying to hide behind Alf. "It was clearly quite hysterical…look at the boys laughing!" He let her lunge at him, then he apparated three feet way. Ginny, however, had been a seeker of some skill and was on top of him, playfully smacking him about the shoulders, as he collapsed into a heap by the sink.

This was too much for the boys. James released Albus, and they both piled on, to be joined by Teddy and a more tentative Alfred. Lily just giggled at her crazy family.

"Enough!" Ginny yelled, laughing, and releasing an out of breath George. "Alright, George Weasley…you asked for it. I am going out and leaving you in charge…and don't blame me if by the end of the day you have two black eyes and a headache."

"We'll help out!" Alfred piped up. "I used to take care of my younger brother and sister!"

Teddy agreed. "Yeah, Alf and I can help Uncle George…everything will be JUST FINE."

Ginny may have felt some apprehension at the angelic expressions of the four children, but the outright joy on George's face relieved her. He could do this. So, without one more second's hesitation, she did indeed head out for the day.

Now, some four hours later, as George was trying to simultaneously make lunch, coral James and appease Albus, he was wondering if he didn't perhaps belong in St. Mungo's after all. Because clearly he was insane.

"Oi, James!" He called out, making a swipe for the active four year old. "Stop torturing your brother!" Behind him a pot of soup began to boil over. "Oh, bugger!" If Lily weren't sleeping peacefully… finally, after fussing for two hours…he might actually have started to rip his hair out.

Teddy came in the front door, with Alf trailing behind, and quickly assessed the situation. "James Potter!" He said, sounding much older than his ten years.

James immediately came to a halt in front of his adored god-brother..

Teddy had his arms crossed, and raised one eyebrow. "You're not making things hard for Uncle George, are you?"

"Dint mean to!" He appealed.

"That's a good thing…" Alf added slyly, picking up Albus. "I'd hate to see him not bring you any more surprises from that nice shop of his…"

Threatened with such heinous bribery, James immediately took his seat. "Thanks, boys." George said, looking as Alf and Teddy strapped Albus into the high chair. He prepared five bowls of the soup, and floated them over to the table. Slicing a loaf of fresh bread, he looked surreptitiously at Alf. "You have two half siblings, Alfred?"

"Brother and Sister." He said, coming over to take the bread from his Uncle, completely oblivious that it could have been done magically. "Len's a real pain in the ass, but Liv's sweet." He looked behind at George as they headed to the table. "I meant to ask you if I could write her."

"Of course." He sat beside Albus, and blew on the soup to cool it slightly. "If you think your…er… mum's husband…" The words nearly spat out, as he remembered what had been done to Alf. "Wouldn't' mind."

"He seemed okay with it." Alf said, helping James butter his bread. Teddy was pouring milk out for everyone, including George.

"Did he hate magic? Some muggles do." Teddy asked James curiously.

"No…" Alf thought. "I dunno…hard to say, really, because Mum pretended Magic wasn't real, just her fairy stories. He sounded to me like he was fine with it when he was sending me to London." Alf sucked on the spoon thoughtfully. "That might have been just to get rid of me, though."

George made a growling noise that said exactly what he thought of Alfred's step-father, even as he lifted the first spoon with a waving motion towards Albus' mouth.

"Open the door and let the broomstick in!" George intoned, making Albus giggle.

Alfred chuckled as well. "I'd have said airplane. Probably confused the heck out of the kid."

"Weird!" Teddy said, his hair going puce.

A spirited discussion of muggle expressions and their magical translations ensued. James was rapt with attention and George imagined his parents' expression when he informed them that it was raining "cats and dogs" instead of cauldrons and watersprites.

Albus was banging his spoon with feeling on his chair tray while George was singing "Mitsy the Big Spider…" (And why was Alf so amused by that?) when James cried out from his chair.

"GRAMPA!"

George looked up sharply to see his father standing in the doorway.

James was giving him a huge bear hug, and Albus was squealing with joy, reaching out for Arthur. Teddy merely smiled, but Alf was regarding him carefully, perhaps remembering their departure from the burrow yesterday, when Arthur had stood by without a word as George left with Alf. Bill had looked sheepish; Percy had been ashamed and promised to get everything fixed legally by the end of the day. Molly had, as expected, refused to leave the house. But Arthur…his own father…had stood by and let him leave without a word.

Now he stood in Ginny's kitchen, with James held high and a hand on little Albus' head, and George couldn't imagine why.

"Isn't your sister home?" He asked, as he finally put James down, although still not looking at George.

Before George could find his voice, James replied: "Uncle George let Mummy take a day off, and he's babysitting us!" James came over to hug his knees. "We lllllllooooooovvveee Uncle George."

George gave him a tight laugh. "Oh, and look who wants a new spectro-ball, eh?" But he rubbed James' head playfully.

"Oh…er…by yourself?" Arthur seemed taken aback.

Alf saw George's shoulders set at the comment, and quickly stepped in. "Hey, James…why don't you and Teddy come out back with me and let Uncle George talk with your grampa?"

Arthur looked hurt. "I'm your Grampa too, Alfred." He said quietly, even as James flew to Alf. "Can we play with the quaffle like yesterday????" The youngster cried out, tugging him towards the door.

Alf ignored Arthur's statement and took James' hand. George spoke quickly. "I'm putting Albus down for his nap…you boys stay in the back yard. James, listen to the big boys, okay? Teddy, no broomsticks and no magic…got it?"

"Sure thing, Uncle George." Teddy was perhaps the most confused by the tension, but like his father he navigated a crisis well, and picked up on Alf's cues.

As the boys walked outside, George took the fussing Albus up the stairs, where his crib was, and laid him in it. He looked rather put out at first; George tapped his wand and a mobile of quidditch players sprang to life, and George sang softly to him for a few moments. As he suspected, Albus truly was tired, and he nodded off. With a smile, George very gently pulled the blanket up to his chin, and turned to leave the room.

Arthur was still in the doorway, watching him. George sighed.

"If we go…" He spoke quietly to his father. "To the balcony in Harry and Ginny's room, we can watch the boys playing out back, and hear Lily or Albus if they cry."

They walked together, and George leaned on the balcony railing, smiling down at the kids below. James was in his glory, having the undivided attention of two "big boys"; Teddy was more relaxed with Alf there to help him, and Alf looked frankly like he was having the time of his life.

George felt his father come up next to him. "I didn't mean to imply, you know, that you weren't able to handle them by yourself. Just that it wasn't something I think I could have done, when you were all little."

There was a moment's silence. "After yesterday, Dad, you could hardly be surprised if I did think that. You all made it perfectly clear you think I'm one step above barmy."

"George…" His father appealed, and George turned on him.

"Don't 'George' me, Dad." He turned to his father, and the hurt welled up inside him almost as bad as yesterday. "I'm not surprised that Mum acted the way she did, but I certainly didn't expect YOU to turn on me like that."

Arthur blinked once. "How long, George, have you believed your mother didn't love you?"

George turned away, looking out over the boys, so his father couldn't see his tears. He spoke only when he felt he could without losing it completely. "Not that she didn't love me, exactly. More like she loved me less. I mean we all know Bill was always her favorite; it was almost a joke in the family. Never bothered any of us."

Arthur managed a chuckle. "Used to annoy Bill, actually…" He admitted. "The way she hovered."

"Right. Well, I was the anti-favorite." Seeing his father protest, George insisted. "Look, she loved me, alright; at least she used to. But I always knew that she expected less of me than anybody else, INCLUDING Fred. And I know Fred and I must have been an ungodly handful, especially with Charlie and Bill and Percy running around…but honestly we were usually at least equally to blame when things went wrong, and sometimes it was actually Fred's doing, not mine!"

Arthur sighed, leaning on the rail beside George. "I truly never saw her treating you differently George. But if you tell me it was how you felt…"

"It was." George paused, collecting his thoughts. "Though if Fred had never died, I don't think it would have been any big deal. But…once he did…you heard her yesterday, Dad. She does blame me for it, even though I know there wasn't a damned thing I could have done." George's voice hitched slightly, and Arthur put his hand on his shoulder. "Look, Dad…Fred was more than a brother to me. He was my best friend and my other half. And even though Mom favored Fred over me, we were still Fred-and-George to her, like we were to everyone. We were never two separate people; always shared a room, always shared clothes, even shared illnesses, ended up sharing a business. Given that people lumped us together for twenty years, I don't think it's reasonable for everyone to have expected me return to normal in expected mourning time. I didn't HAVE a normal anymore."

Arthur squeezed his shoulder, and George wiped a tear from his face. His father spoke gently. "George…I need to know…and maybe I'm daft for not knowing…why did you try to kill yourself? Why, George?" Arthur's voice was pained. "What did we miss?"

George let out a half laugh and a sigh. "Oh, Dad…it wasn't like that. There wasn't anything you could have done. I had this consuming loneliness inside me, that nobody but Fred could fill. The day we buried him, I just couldn't face being GEORGE. And I looked around and thought…Bill had Fleur…Ron had Hermione…Ginny had Harry…" He gulped suddenly and confessed to his father what he had never told anyone. "Angelina left me."

His father balked, turned to him, and gently turned George's face to look at him. "You said _you_ broke it off with _her_?"

He shook his head slowly. "Couldn't bear to admit the truth. Angelina told me…she told me she couldn't even to look at me. That she'd always look at me and see Fred." George swallowed hard, wiping at his face. "It was Fred she loved all along, you see. Fred who took her to the Yule ball because Ron challenged him to ask someone, and she was there. But Fred always loved Katie, and the night of the Yule Ball we swapped dates. I didn't realize Angelina never got over that. She seemed okay…but after Fred's death she made it very clear…I'd never been more than sloppy seconds." George closed his eyes. "I was just so tired of being the least best Weasley."

Arthur enclosed George in a hug; embraced him fully for the first time in years, kissing him forcefully on the side of his head, as George broke down on his shoulder. "You were never the _least_ anything, George. Never, never to me!" Arthur inhaled hard. "I am so sorry about yesterday. I didn't know your mom's motives, but I knew mine, and I wanted to protect you."

"Protect me!" George gasped, pulling away slightly. "From Alf?"

His father shook his head, with a wry smile. "I was afraid, George, of you getting that close to someone again, getting that attached, and losing him. How do we know nobody else will come for him? Katie had family too. And then, what if he doesn't want to stay? I couldn't bear to see you HURT again!" Arthur turned away, a bitter look on his face. "Instead I ended up being the one to hurt you."

With a deep breath, George grabbed his father's arm. "Dad, I've kept myself in a bloody cocoon for ten years. It's no way to live." He waited until his father looked at him. "I'll be okay. Alf and I will be okay."

Arthur nodded, giving him a watery smile, before reaching in to his jacked and pulling out a packet. "Here."

George opened it up and his breath hitched. Inside was a decree authorizing George Weasley to be the guardian of Alfred Weasley, son of Fred Weasley and Katie Bell, deceased, approved by the Ministry of Family and authorized by Kingsley Shacklebolt. The gold lettering shimmered on the opaque paper, turning colors with the wavering of the paper. George looked up quickly at his dad.

"They were going to Owl it, but I wanted to bring it along." Arthur said quietly.

"Thanks, Dad." George said, feeling a lot of his worries slip away.

"Yeah, well…" Arthur grumbled, pretending to be gruff. "See how much you thank me five years from now, when Son-Of-Fred has placed exploding dung bombs under your boss's brand new wizard-spaced car!"

"What, Fudge didn't like the effect?" George laughed. "And I hate to admit it, but that one was my idea, so I should be well equipped to handle it…besides, I'm my own boss."

Arthur punched his shoulder gently. There was a squeal of laughter, and they looked down at James, armed tightly wrapped around the quaffle, was being tossed between Alf and Teddy. Arthur smiled more sadly. "You will bring him round sometimes, won't you? And let him call me Grampa?"

"Dad, I didn't tell him NOT to." George patted his father's shoulder. "You've got to remember what a shock this still is to him…having instant family. Three days ago he woke up with a step-father and two half siblings…now he has grandparents, six Uncles, four Aunts, and a bevy of cousins. Hell, half the time he forgets and calls me Sir. **ME**!" Arthur managed a chuckle at that image. "As for bringing him around, that's not a problem, as long you can promise me Mum won't try to apparate him to Bulgaria!"

"Bulgaria?" Arthur asked. "Why would anyone apparate to Bulgaria?"


	8. Chapter 8

The next three weeks went by quickly. George and Alf would be leaving Godric's Hollow tomorrow, with George finally having the flat over the shop fixed up appropriately for the addition of Alfred. It had been nice, though, spending time with Ginny and Harry, and the kids. It had been good for Alf as well, George felt; he and Teddy had bonded into tight friends, and the younger kids adored him. George had taken to going in to the store a couple of times a week, leaving Alf in Ginny's care; when he was around, he often let Ginny take some time for herself. It had been a perfect arrangement, all in all. And if he had a niggling worry or two in back of his head, he would handle them. Eventually. Right now was just time for him and Alf.

Tonight, Alf was propped up in the bed, elbow resting on his pillow, looking at George as George went to settle in. "You…" George said, rubbing his head. "Should be sleeping."

"Couldn't sleep." Alf said. George saw he was holding that photo from the Yule ball. "I wanted to ask you about this photo…how my Mum and Dad got together. You promised me you'd explain."

George sighed, but Alf's look was so imploring, he couldn't help himself. And after telling his father about Angelina's abandonment, he found he could look back at that time more at peace with himself. He took the photo from his nephew, and looked down at the smiling and waving faces, at four young people who didn't fully realize how dangerous their future was. And he began to talk.

"You have to understand, Alf, that what was between your mom and dad started a long time before that night…it started back in third year. The family was buying school supplies in Diagon Alley; your dad and I were just thirteen years old. We were just on the cusp of realizing girls were something other than annoying sisters or targets of pranks. Katie Bell was a second year, who'd been a reserve chaser on the Quiddich team, and someone who we paid little attention to at all, especially with your Uncle Ron around for us to torture…"

And for George, the years fell away.

"_Geroff, Percy." George pulled away from Percy the Prefect, Percy the PRAT, in annoyance. "I just wanna look at the brooms!"_

"_You KNOW we can't afford new brooms." Percy informed him._

_George did know that new brooms were out of the question…too many kids on his dad's one salary. But that didn't stop him from wanting to LOOK, right? It didn't hurt to look!_

_Mum was beside him. "George, do stop annoying your brother."_

"_He's annoying me…" George mumbled, but was quelled by a stern glance from Molly._

"_Where is Fred?" Percy asked suddenly._

_George was startled. Fred had been __**right there**__. Fred was always right there! _

"_George!" Molly was on him quicker than a seeker on a snitch. "George Weasley, where is __**your brother**__!"_

"_I dunno…" George stammered, both startled by how angry his mother was, and by the simple fact that he didn't know. He always knew where Fred was!_

_Molly was well aware of that as well, and she grabbed him by the ear, pulling him to the side "OW, mum…Really…I…OWWWWW…"_

_At that moment there was a commotion as Ron, the soon to be first-year, toppled in to a stack of empty cartons out for disposal. Molly let go of George, who rubbed his ear, sulking and worried. As Mum extricated Ron from the boxes, fussing in concern to make sure he was okay, George was surprised to see his little brother wink at him from around her elbow. _

"Heh…" George came back to present time with a start.

"What?" Alf came over and sat beside him on his bed, curling up next to him.

"Nothing, just I realized for the first time, that your Uncle Ron was looking out for me even then." George shook his head, and continued.

_Fortunately for George's ear, Fred came around the corner before Molly could resume the grand inquisition. He wasn't alone, though…he was helping an injured Katie Bell, who had a bloody nose and was limping. Molly saw Fred and abandoned Ron immediately; both George and Ron followed her towards this new scene._

"_Fred, what happened? Who is this?" Molly asked, pulling Katie's hand from her face and working on healing her. _

"_There, Katie…told you my Mum could fix it." Fred smiled at her, and then explained, "Some little blond twerp actually threw a curse at her."_

"_Dear me!" Molly said. "Any idea who it was? I shall speak to his parents!"_

"_Draco Malfoy." Katie said, somewhat nasally. "And I don't think there's much point in speaking to his parents."_

"_I see." Molly said, her tone registering agreement. "The Malfoys are __**so**__ unpleasant. George, don't just stand there, get some of those boxes for Katie to sit on."_

"_Er…right, Mum." George hurried to comply, with help from Ron. Katie smiled at him when he got to her side. "Hi, George…didn't expect to see you all like this!"_

_George explained further, where Fred had left off. "Mum, this is Katie Bell…she's a year behind us in Gryffindor and a reserve chaser on the team."_

"_Ah…one of the Sussex Bells?" Molly asked, still dabbing at her face._

"_No, M'm, from Southampton." She said, blushing. _

"_Really? And you're in Gryffindor?" Molly seemed quite surprised._

"_First one in my family not in Slytherin in 100 years." She admitted. "That's why Malfoy threw the curse at me. He'll be first year this year."_

"_Sounds like a winning class-mate for you, Ron." George said, grimly. Molly, for no reason he could see, thwacked him on the side of the head. "OW!"_

"_Don't pick on your brother, George." Molly said. "Go get your father from Flourish and Blotts, while I finish up with Katie."_

_In a thundering bad mood, and with two sore ears, George walked away, Ron tagging behind him. "I know you weren't picking on me, George." Ron pleaded._

"_Tell that to Mum." George grumbled._

"Anyway, I think that's the first time Fred really noticed Katie. He saw her being picked on and Fred would never abide by a bully. Mum used to accuse us sometimes of BEING bullies, but there wasn't anything further from the truth…we never set a prank except in good fun, unless we saw someone picking on someone who wasn't a fair fight. Then we'd feel it our duty to even up the odds, a bit."

"Like Robin Hood." Alf said.

"Er, Right. You'll have to explain that one to me some time." He coughed lightly. "So that's how both of us, really, came to notice Katie Bell; we all became closer throughout that year, which had _a lot_ of adventure, thanks to the arrival of Harry Potter and his attachment to your uncle Ron as best friend. I didn't realize until the end of the year, though, that there was anything more to it."

"_Hey, Katie." George spotted her in the library, and came over to sit down with her. _

"_Hi, George." She said, with a big smile._

_It amazed him that she could always tell them apart. "All packed?" He asked._

"_Yep…not really looking forward to going home, though. Rather stay at Hogwarts. You must have so much fun at the Burrow with your brothers."_

_George had no problem spending the next five minutes regaling her with tales of life at the Weasley household. Katie was a good listener, had a nice laugh, and could tell him apart from Fred. George had been surprised to feel a flutter in his stomach, when she reached over to touch his arm at one point. He realized, with a start, that Katie was alright for a girl. More than alright, maybe._

_Then George looked up and saw Fred enter the library. He saw the look on Fred's face as his twin looked at Katie, and saw the look on Katie's face when she looked at his brother, and knew the game was over before he'd even had a chance._

"You were in love with my MUM?" Alf gaped up at him.

"I'd just turned fourteen, you wouldn't call it more than a crush." George admitted. "And it never got farther than that moment, Alf. Not that it ever went smoothly, either."

_Three years went by. Fred was awkward, sometimes, a little wild, and definitely not ready to date, to 'tie himself down.' George also didn't date much…but to be fair those had been some eventful years. Ginny had that whole issue with Tom Riddle's diary their fourth year, and fifth year they would go on to win the Quidditch cup, thanks to Oliver Wood, and Harry. But sixth year was the tri-wizard tournament, and the first ever Yule Ball..._

"_Ron's a twit, George." Fred was pacing in his room._

_George laughed at him. "You're the twit, Fred. What did you go asking Angelina out for if you didn't want to!"_

"_I panicked!" Fred uncharacteristically ran his hands through his hair in agitation. "Here I was torturing Ron for not having a date..."_

"_He ought to just ask Hermione and get it over with. Those two are so destined for each other even Trelawney could predict it." George laughed at his own joke._

"_Well, I didn't expect Ron to call me on it!" Fred said. "He asked me who I was going with, and I saw Angelina behind him, so I figured, why not?"_

"_Why didn't you say Katie Bell?" George asked. _

"_What?" Fred sat limply down on the bed, and gaped at him. _

"_Katie Bell. She's who you wanted to ask, isn't she?" George was puzzled._

_Turns out, Ron wasn't the only dense brother when it came to matters of love. "I didn't want to ask Katie either, George. Katie's just a kid." Fred said, dead-on serious._

"_She's a year older than Ron and Harry, Fred, and girls mature faster." Privately George thought Katie had matured QUITE nicely; pretty smile, nice personality, beautiful hair that seemed to flow out behind her…He pulled himself from his thoughts quickly._

"_I'm not interested in Katie Bell." Fred lied to himself, though he wasn't fooling George. "I don't want to go to the Yule Ball at all. I thought we might stick together and, I dunno, maybe slip some dung-bombs under the tables."_

"_Oh, like I want THAT howler from Mom!" George protested. "And you can't back out on Angelina. She is bigger than you, and stronger than you, not to mention better looking than you, and she will kick your ass."_

"_Right…so that means you need a date." Fred announced. "Because I am not going without you!"_

_George studied Fred carefully, and realized he was completely serious. And desperate. George took pity on him, and answered simply. "Right, then. I'll just head to the library and see who enters into my line of sight."_

"Dad sounds like he was pretty confused." Alf asked, nuzzling up next to George, who pulled blankets around him.

"You look like you're ready for sleep now." George commented.

"No…please, I want to hear the rest." Alf pleaded. George smiled down at him.

_Fred Weasley may have been confused about what girl he did or didn't want to go to the Yule Ball, but George Weasley knew exactly what he was doing. He immediately sought out Katie Bell, finding her in the common room by herself, sitting near the window watching the snow._

"_Oh, hey George." She said, sounding depressed._

"_Hey there." He sat next to her, watching as her hands played with a scarf she was slowly pulling to pieces in her lap. "Tough day?" He asked._

_She didn't answer right away, and then asked quietly, "Did Fred really ask Angelina out? She's really pleased to be going. Not sure how she feels about Fred specifically, but…"  
_

"_Would you like to go…with me?" George asked, gently, taking the abused knitwear from her hands. "I know I'm not Fred…although sometimes I'm not sure anyone else does…but maybe if you squint a little bit…"_

_Katie had laughed, and thrown her arms around him. "You always know the right thing to say, George. And yes, I will go with you…and no, I will not squint. You know damned well I can always tell you apart."_

_It was the happiest moment of George's sixth year._

"You DID love her!" Alf accused, but with a smile on his face. "You loved my mum!"

George felt himself blushing. Funny thing about telling these stories; sometimes things became clearer as you talked them out. "Maybe I did." He admitted softly. "But things have a way of arranging themselves, sometimes."

_The night of the Yule Ball the four of them went together. Angelina was stunning; a tall, athletic black girl, she had chosen a golden gown, which seemed to light her whole face up. George didn't feel like he'd ever really seen her before. _

_Katie, more petite, with dark silky hair and blue eyes, was wearing red, a ruby red silk gown that shimmered in the candle light. Fred took one look at her, and it was at that moment that he realized his twin had known him better than he knew himself._

_Halfway through the evening, it was quite clear that Katie and Fred couldn't stop looking at each other. Angelina didn't seem angry at all; Katie's crush on Fred had been perhaps the worst kept secret in the girl's dorm. She had turned to George and suggested that they dance…the minute George had taken her hand, he was lost. And for the rest of the evening, and for the next few years, in school and beyond, that was how it stayed: Katie and Fred, Angelina and George._

Alf sighed. "You were all so happy in this photo…what were you laughing at?"

"You." George said, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Be serious!" Alf said, sternly.

_It was towards the end of the evening. They piled in to the booth in the new arrangement for the evening: Fred, Katie, Angelina and George. They each had a butter beer and were eating off a collection of deserts._

"_I can't believe Hermione Granger went to the ball with Victor Krum." Katie said, watching the couple leaving._

_George watched a surprisingly beautiful Hermione twirl her way out of the room. "Ron can't believe it, either. Stupid git he was for not asking her."_

_Angelina smiled. "Some men have problems seeing what is right in front of them." She shot a look at Fred, who blushed. "But as for Viktor, you can't deny he's attractive."_

"_Not my type, thank you." George said, sipping butter beer. "I prefer chasers over seekers." He teased her._

_Angelina took his hand, but did sigh wistfully. "He is a good Quidditch player. I might name a son after him."_

"_Geroff." George stuttered. "After THAT? The man has only one eyebrow!"_

_Angelina looked down her nose at him, but with a slight smile. "And why would you be worried about what my son will be called?"_

_Fred got him off the hook._

"_I know what name I'm going to give MY son!" He announced, sounding serious._

_The three others turned to him. George expected a punch line. Instead, he got an answer. "Alfred."_

"_Alfred?" Katie asked, puzzled. _

"_Alfred?" Angelina echoed, looking to George for help._

_George, who knew they had no relatives with the name, and suspecting his twin with still having a joke up his sleeve, had no choice but to be the straight man this time. "Alfred?"_

"_Of course." Fred took Katie's hand in his and looked deeply into her eyes. "Because if we have a son, he will be half Katie…and 'Alf Fred!"_

_George moaned out loud, Katie blushed and giggled, and Angelina put her head in her hands, not believing she'd fallen for it. Then Fred laughed as well, and when Fred laughed you had to join in, and laugh hard. And that was where Colin Creevy…poor kid…snapped the photo._

Alf was aghast. "You've got to be kidding me…THAT's where I got my name? There isn't some great Uncle Alfred who battled trolls in Iceland or something?"

"Fraid not, kiddo. But I can tell you, when you showed up in the store with that name, I knew for damned sure you were Fred and Katie's kid. So be glad of the name. I am." He kissed Alf on the head. "Now, to sleep with you…tomorrow is moving day, and I need to get my head out of the past!"

He scooped up Alf into his own bed, tucking him in firmly. The boy was two thirds of the way asleep already, but he managed a question. "Can I help at the store, Uncle George?" He murmured. "I'd like that…I'm a good worker."

"I'd like that too…we'll give it a shot, then, eh?" He stroked the boy's head gently, somewhat confused but happy nonetheless.

WWWWWWWWWWW

The past, it turned out, was not done with George Weasley for the evening. He found himself in dreams on a magic carpet, which was strange, because he'd never been on one before, only heard of them. But it made sense when he saw Fred lounging beside him.

"Hey there, Bro." George smiled at him serenely. "Taking me to your part of the universe this time?"

"Just a scenic tour of the upper stratosphere. Easier to talk here than on brooms." Fred leaned back on an elbow, letting the wind run through his hair. "I miss flying with you, George."

"Ditto." George sighed, remembering how it had felt when they were beaters on the house team.

"So…what are you worried about?"

"You make it sound like I only dream about you when I'm worried." George crossed arms and glared at him.

"Not only then, although those seem to be the only ones you remember. Never mind that, though…you are worried about my progeny, George…I can sense it. Spill. I might have some insight, you know." Fred sat back and waited.

"Well, I guess…" George tried to think out exactly how to explain what had him baffled. "I mean he is your kid, Fred, but he's, well, don't take this the wrong way, but he's a damned site better behaved than I would have expected." George found himself fully understanding in the dream what had been a niggling worry. "I mean, not that I expected him to set Harry's house on fire, but he's so perfect it scares me."

Fred smiled at him. "You're good, George. Probably a damned site better with kids than I ever would have been."

"Come again?" George blinked, coloring slightly.

"It scares you, because Alf's scared." Fred watched him trying to digest that. "Think about it, George. He's had one hell of a summer; his Mum died, his step-father essentially threw him out with the garbage. He enters a world he didn't even know existed and has to cope with seven thousand relatives, or thereabouts. And he's probably feeling responsible for you and Mum behaving like idiots."

George bristled. "I am not the one being the idiot, Fred!"

Fred's expression softened. "Perhaps not, George. Just, please, keep trying, okay? But anyway, from Alf's point of view, he probably thinks you and Mum were just fine before he got there. And he's thinking that sooner or later he's going to screw something up and you'll drop him too."

George chewed his lip thoughtfully. "So he's trying to be the worlds most perfect kid? I don't need him to be that, Fred. I just want him to be happy."

"I know that." Fred grasped his arm gently. "But he doesn't. And like I said, it's not like adults have the greatest track record in the world to him."

George stared down his twin, now more worried than before he'd fallen asleep. "But what can I _do_, Freddo? I keep trying to show him how much he means to me, keep telling him that we're going forward together. How can I get him to believe that?"

"You can't." Fred sighed. "He's human, and he isn't perfect…nobody is…and sooner or later the ten year old in him is going to do something perfectly ten year old stupid. And when it happens, he's going to expect you to gut him like a fish and _then_ toss him onto the street. Until you don't do it, he's going to just expect you will."

"Ugh." George threw himself down flat on the carpet. "I don't suppose you could give me any actual hint as to when his veneer is going to crack, Fred?"

"Do I _look_ like Trelawney?" He laughed. "Relax, George. You can't make it happen. But trust me, when it does, you'll know it, and you'll find a way to make him understand you!" Fred's eyes twinkled in mirth. "You never had a problem letting me know when I was being a stupid git, why should it be any different with my son?"


	9. Chapter 9

July 19, 2008

Just two days in to being back into the flat over the shop, Alf found himself trying to permanently ensconce himself into the word of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. "Uncle Ron sent me to see if you wanted any lunch, Uncle George." Alf poked his head in to the lab that was just past the main storeroom.

George let out a deep sigh, lifting magical goggles from his face and on to the table. He sat back on his stool and ran his hands through his hair. "Might as well, I guess. I'm not getting anywhere with this lot." He met Alf's eye and broke into a smile. "You having fun out there?"

"Loads." He grinned in answer. "Uncle Ron has me demonstrating the fanged Frisbee tricks he's worked out."

"An excuse for RON to play with the merchandise if I ever heard one." George rubbed at the back of his neck. "You know, if you wanted to stay at Ginny's for the day, you could...I don't want to press you into indentured servitude!"

Alf felt a slight quake in his stomach at first, but he forced it down. "I like being here." He said, leaving the _with you_ out, as he didn't want to seem too, well, clingy. "And I don't mind helping...I always helped out in the restaurant."

"I like having you here!" George gave him a quick grin. "But I want you to be happy."

Feeling lighter, Alf came up to him. "New toy?" He asked, looking it over. "Oh...it's a YoYo!" He said, glad to recognize something.

"Alf, my young friend, this is no mere YoYo..." Eyebrows raised, George lifted the purple orb up and on to his finger. "Observe, if you will, the result of six months' hard work and sweat, and ingenuity..." He spun the toy down, in the usual manner of YoYo's, but this one offered a burst of sparkles and mini fireworks shooting out in all angles.

"Whoa!" Alf gaped, wide eyes and grinning, at the spectacle. "Bloody _brilliant, _Uncle George!"

"_Almost _bloody brilliant, Alf." George sighed, winding the string around the toy and setting it aside. "Not sure if I can explain this, but when something is done, really ready to go out on the floor, I know it. And this...isn't quite, but for the life of me I can't figure out how." He shrugged, motioning around at an array of wires, potion ingredients, and notes with charm spells on them. "So...it's back to the drawing board for the WoWo's...and I had wanted to have them done this summer, as a surprise to...well, never mind."

The word WoWo stirred memories in Alf's mind. Uncle George, talking in his sleep. Alf reached over to the purple toy, and considered it thoughtfully. "Music." He said tentatively. "What if it played music, too?" He met his Uncle's eyes.

George was thoughtful, lips pursed. "Music?" He whispered. "Could it be that simple?"

"I mean, I don't know if it's possible." Alf wondered if the sort of thing he were thinking about was beyond even magical capabilities. "But say all those cool fireworks were going off and meanwhile it was playing God Save the Queen or something..."

"Oh, it's possible!" Color was coming up in George's face, and a new spark was in his eyes. He reached over for a set of text books and began thumbing through them. "I'll need to work out a new charm set, of course...maybe mix some wild Egyptian song beetle wing with the fireworks...need sheet music, too..."

Alf was warming up to the idea himself. "We could maybe do a bunch of different songs...ones that played happy birthday, ones that played Jingle Bells for Christmas..."

"The 1812 Overture!" George's eyes were now positively on fire. "That's what I want to start with, but you're right, Alf...we could do custom versions for weddings and parties...people would pay a fortune...Ha, Ha!" He clapped his hand on his head. "This is without question going to be the BEST new product we've put out in ten years!" He abruptly swung around on his stool, snagging Alf into a hug and onto his lap, and then spinning them together around in circles. "You are a ruddy genius, kiddo!"

Alf laughed, giddy with delight, although guilt bubbled up on him too. It wasn't really his idea, was it? "I don't know if I deserve that much credit, Sir...I mean, you probably would have got there on your own."

"Quit that Sir crap, this isn't the military." George squeezed him hard and stopped the stool. "And never question inspiration, kiddo...it happens to all of us in different ways. Now, your mission is to go out to your Uncle Ron and procure us sandwiches. Sadly, you are going to have to also inform him he is losing your assistance, as I need you here with me..."

"Can I help you back here?" Alf felt his pulse race. "Can I _really_?"

"Well, you're underage, of course, but no reason I can't have you grinding beetle wings and mixing pixie pigment." George rose quickly. "I'll start gathering what we need...you fetch us sustenance."

"Two corned beef sandwiches coming right up," he called to George's retreating back, and laughed at the mock scowl he got in return. He didn't quite get what George meant about his being underage, exactly...maybe you were supposed to be a certain age to use certain equipment, like how he couldn't use the meat slicer at the restaurant? But nothing much mattered right now; he had _helped_. He was _usefull_. He made his Uncle _happy._

In short, Alf himself was as happy as he could recall being in his short life!

WWWWWWWWW

The happiness lasted all of two days.

Hanging out with Teddy in Godric's Hollow, on a day when George was going off to France on some top secret business mission, he first heard the word that would start to haunt him. Well, not the first time he heard it, exactly, but the first time he really became aware that it had anything to do with him.

They were looking through old photo albums, from the days around the war. Mostly they had shots of Uncle Harry and his friends, but Alf's Dad and Uncle seemed to be around a fair amount. But in one shot there was this incredibly ugly, stooped man with a glare in his eye, who looked like he was ready to kill whomever must have turned his cat neon green. (Alf had a vague suspicion he knew what person, or what two people, that might have been). "Who's that?" He asked innocently.

"Argus Filch. He was at Hogwarts as some sort of caretaker, I think. Hated kids from what I could hear, but maybe not surprising, since he was a squib…" Seeing that Alf didn't quite understand him, Teddy explained further. "You know, somebody who's parents were magic, but they're not. Magically disabled is what they call it now. Happens sometimes. Must have been hard for Filch, though, surrounded by so many highly magical kids and him no better than a muggle."

Teddy went on looking at photos, chatting about different people and scenes and regaling Alf with stories he'd learned from Uncle Harry, but Alf didn't hear a word of it. His mind was still reeling with Argus Filch and his disability. Teddy finally realized that Alf had gone quiet. "What's wrong?" He asked, seriously. "You look kind of sick."

"Teddy…I…I…I can't do magic either." He whispered, hugging his knees to his chest. "Never even occurred to me that I might be able to."

"Well of course you can't…you haven't been taught." Teddy smirked over at him.

"No…I mean…wouldn't I feel it if I could? You can, I know…I've seen you do it without even thinking about it sometimes." Alf fought to hold himself together.

Teddy blushed. "I'm not supposed to, but yeah…I can do little things. Still, figured that was because I've always been around wizards. You haven't." With inspiration, Teddy got up and went over to his desk, pulling out a highly polished case, holding it with reverence. "Here…these are my parent's wand. Try one." He opened the box.

Alf picked one up carefully, holding it as he'd seen everyone else do. "Now what?" He asked.

Teddy frowned, just slightly. "What do you feel, Alf?"

Fear clutched at him. "I'm supposed to feel something?" Alf concentrated hard, but all he could feel was the smooth wood in his hands, cool to the touch.

"Try the other…that one was my mum's. Maybe it's because you're a guy." Teddy urged.

Alf picked up the wand that would have belonged to Remus Lupin. "Nothing." His stomach seemed suddenly to be made of lead. He stared down at the thin stick, willing it to do something. "What should I feel, Teddy?" He asked, swallowing hard.

"When I touch a wand, I feel this tingle in my hand, like it's trying to pull something from me. I feel it mostly with my Dad's wand." Teddy looked anxious himself. "Why don't you maybe try a spell…you won't get into any trouble for it…well, not if you do something simple."

Alf pointed the wand at the door and tried what seemed to be the most basic thing he heard on a daily basis. "Alohamora." He tried to mimic his Uncle's wrist movement, casual and practiced, as much as he could.

Nothing.

Alfred froze, wand pointed uselessly in the air, and felt like the blood was draining right out of his body. "I'm a squib." He blinked hard.

"Stop it, Alf." Teddy said, though not unkindly. He took the wand away gently and placed it with great care in its box. "Look, I'm ten, what do I know about how these things work? Especially when you've been in a muggle environment your whole life. You need to talk to Uncle George about this, Alf. He'll know what you need to do."

_Right. Talk to Uncle George. He can cure this, if I am one, right? Uncle George can do anything. But maybe I'm not even…maybe there's some sort of ceremony or something that needs to happen first? He'll know though. He'll take care of everything._

"Teddy…" Aunt Ginny called up the stairs. "Your Gran is here!"

Teddy hopped up. "Gotta go…Gran's just got back in town. We might go in to Diagon Alley tomorrow; you going to be in the shop?"

"Should be…" Alf said, adding in his mind, _unless Uncle George thinks it's too dangerous for a squib._

"Stop it." Teddy said, seeing where he was going with his thoughts. "Uncle George will figure it all out. He will."

They got up together, Teddy punching him lightly on the arm. "Seeya, Weasley."

"Lupin." Alf forced a grin as Teddy walked away.

Only once he knew that Teddy was well gone did he run downstairs, popping in to the kitchen. "Have you got a dictionary I could take a look at, Aunt Gin?"

WWWWWWW

Late that evening after dinner, with Aunt Ginny thinking that Alf was looking up some info for Uncle George's top-secret project (only the two of them knew about the WoWos), Alf was clutching his pillow to his chest, staring without blinking at his Mum's wand, which was on bedside table. Both the Magic/Muggle dictionary and the "S" volume of Wiggenhoffer and Tinderbotz's Encyclopedia were on the bed beside him.

He'd started with the dictionary:

**Squib (s-kwib/n): 1. A child born to magical parents, but possessing no or little magical capabilities of their own. 2. A person of retarded magical capabilities due to illness or injury. 3. (Slang) A dunce or fool, one of low intelligence, someone beneath magical notice.**

All in all, it hadn't left him feeling warm and cozy. The article from the encyclopedia had left him feeling worse:

_Squibs have historically been institutionalized so as to minimize the embarrassment caused to pure blood families. In the darkest circles, Squib children were often killed outright, with the preference usually by drowning. Although recently their treatment has been vastly improved, with some squibs being allowed to hold jobs within the magical community, they still find themselves facing heavy discrimination and are usually considered best kept within the muggle universe._

_There is no known cause for naturally occurring instances of Squibness and the rate of occurrence between two pure-blood parents is expected to be slightly below one in ten million, with the rate increasing exponentially if the child is the result of less than pure lines._

"Mum always said I was one in a million--looks like she underestimated." Alf sighed to himself, thinking over every little thing that had happened since he'd found his father's world. And sure enough, what he'd been trying to ignore had been there: Uncle George giving him that look, the look his Mom used to give him. He'd been getting that look from a lot of people now, and now he understood it; it was strange that he wouldn't be trying to sneak some magic use past his Uncle; weird that he, when he was angry or happy, didn't do what was called accidental magic and what he saw happening from even small toddlers in the shop.

Was he an embarrassment to his new family? Would they try to hide him away? He knew what Uncle George kept telling him, what they kept telling each other, that they _belonged _to each other, together, but didn't this make everything different. The Weasley's were from a long line of pure-bloods, and from what he heard so were the Bells...neither of them could exactly be happy about this, could they? And from everything he'd read, there was no cure for this. He'd thought he was just a muggle. He hadn't known there was something worse.

Uncle Harry popped his head in the doorway. "Everything okay, Alf? You're kind of quiet tonight. You didn't have a fight with Teddy, did you?" Kind green eyes worried down at him.

"Teddy's my best friend." Alf protested.

Harry grinned. "Never stopped me and Ron from getting stupid. Anyway, your Uncle George is still in France…he'd like to speak with you."

Firechat. He could do that well enough, as long as he wasn't sticking his face in the flames. But it certainly wasn't the right place for him to spit out all of his fears. So he jogged down the stairs behind his Uncle Harry, sucking up all his reserves to put a good front on.

"Hey, Unc." Alf grinned at George's likeness, appearing strangely beheaded and glowing even more orange than his hair in the fire's embers. "How's France?"

"Brilliant, thanks to you, kiddo. I didn't want to say anything till I knew, but we just landed a major contract with the French Ministry. They've got a big shindig coming up last week of August, and they need fireworks. And we just happen to have the best fireworks on the planet!"

Alf gave a sincere if puzzled smile. "How's that my doing, though? Word is that you've had the best fireworks for years."

"Yes, but now they're MUSICAL. I took that tip you gave me for our little secret project and expanded on it. Totally blew everyone else away, if you'll pardon the bad pun. Anyway, kiddo, I'm going to be a bit longer out here, finalizing the contracts and then it seems they insist on sealing the deal over wine, what with being French and all. I'll have Harry drop you off at the shop tomorrow…no reason for you to have to wait for me."

Alf bit back his thoughts, _I don't care how late you are, Uncle George, I need to talk to you! Even if it's two in the morning before you get here!_ "Sounds good, Uncle George. It'll be busy tomorrow, Uncle Ron says, but I'll be ready to go." Alf replied. Tomorrow all the kids who got their Hogwarts letters would start shopping. Too bad it looked like he wasn't ever going to be one of them

"Sleep tight, Alf. We'll celebrate tomorrow." George's face faded out of the fire, and Alf tried to act as normal as possible as he bid Uncle Harry and Ginny good-night. He doubted very much he'd be sleeping, tightly or otherwise.

WWWWWWW

_The Next Day…_

"Another carton of skiving snackboxes, Alf!" George called out towards the back.

"Right-o, Unc!" His willing nephew answered, with a salute, as he scooted back towards the store room.

One month before Hogwarts opened for the year, and Weasley's Wizzard Wheezes was overflowing with active children and their harried parents, both looking for a break from boring book and robe shopping. New products were flying off the shelf, and old standbys made reliable numbers. Percy had taken a week's vacation to help out with the books, so Ron was freed to work the floor full time with George. They had four additional staff as well, plus Alf, who had made it clear that he preferred being in the shop, with his Uncle, over anywhere else.

And a good thing, too. George smoothed lose hair behind his one ear, and watched with a bemused smile as Alf worked to carry boxes in and arrange them. One or two people looked at his nephew in confusion, no doubt wondering why he wasn't using magic to do the same thing.

On the surface, of course, he was underage. But kids his age used simple magic all the time, usually without comment from anybody. Accidentally sometimes, but not always. Still, it clearly never occurred to Alf to even try. And George was beginning to be worried that he knew why.

Katie had been ambiguous in her letter, had wanted him to draw his own conclusions about the vague way she described her son as different. George, in his overwhelming joy at having Alfred in his life, hadn't really thought about it much at first. But over time, with the days they'd spent together in Godric's Hollow, George had begun to notice things. Like that Alf never did accidental magic and it didn't even seem to occur to him that he might.

Now, of course, Alf had been raised by muggles. But George'd spent a fair amount of time with Harry and Hermione, both from muggle environments. Both told stories of having done accidental magic during their childhood with some frequency. For Harry, it had resulted in punishment and the general feeling that he was some sort of freak; for Hermione, her bemused parents had no clue what was special with their daughter, but took it in stride. But their wizard blood had not been suppressed by being surrounded by muggles.

So Alf ought to have some signs of magic manifesting itself. George had spent time gently quizzing him on some of the events of his childhood. Thinking of Harry's stories, most of the accidental magic he'd done had been in times of stress…having his hair cut hideously short and making it re-grow overnight, being chased by Dudley and managing to leap to the top of the school building. But Alf, with no clue why he was being asked for the stories, never came up with any exceptional tales of unexpected skills. He seemed bemused by magic, utterly impressed by those who had it, and with no expectation of doing any himself.

The conclusion was undeniable: His nephew was a squib.

It seemed utterly impossible that the child of two pure-blood wizards, especially wizards who had the talent of Fred Weasley and Katie Bell, would be without magic. And yet, wasn't that exactly what a squib was? It happened, in the most magic of families, to the children of some of the best wizards. Sometimes there was illness or trauma in early childhood that tampered with natural magic, as in the case of Ariana Dumbledore. But sometimes, the most perfectly healthy of children was born with nothing other than the most perfectly healthy muggle normalness imaginable.

It explained, of course, why Katie hadn't returned after Fred's death.

"Hi, Uncle George!" A shy voice said below him, and George came out of his worried revelry to look down at Teddy Lupin.

"Allo, Teddy!" George smiled warmly. "Here with your Gran, are you? But you don't start Hogwarts this year?" He asked, wondering if he'd missed a year somewhere.

"Nah, next year." Teddy said, beaming at the thought. "But Gran was so excited being back from her vacation she wanted us to spend the day here." He blushed. "And we're going for ice-cream, and she said I could ask Alf to come with us, if that's okay with you."

George felt a tremendous warmth towards the boy, who today was looking a lot like his Dad. He knew that Teddy would never treat Alf like a leper for being a squib…poor Teddy had his own share of prejudice in his past. "That is a wonderful idea, Teddy…I'll send Alf over to you!"

Excitedly Teddy darted away, and George went over to the stacked candies that Alf was unpacking. "Oi, what are you doing, Weasley?" He said, sounding like a stern employer.

Alf looked up, and played back in kind. "My slave driving boss asked me to restock the shelves, Sir." He smiled at him, but for some reason to George the smile seemed forced. Still, he tried to keep the mood light.

"Union violation that is. You are, at my orders, to report to Mr. Lupin and his Grandmother for ice-cream immediately!" He crossed his arms, mock-scowling.

Alfred broke into a wide smile. "Teddy's here?"

George bent as well, dropping the façade. "Over by the registers. Be good for you to take a break for a bit, and get to know Mrs. Tonks."

A slight shadow crossed over Alf's face. "Are you sure? You're so busy here…I know I'm not much help, but…"

"You're a _huge _help!" George squeezed his shoulder. "But I'll soldier on bravely without you for a bit….geron, now!" He smiled to himself as Alf finally turned away, with a smile for Teddy. He then set to restocking the snack-boxes by himself, the niggling problem of what to do about Alf still on his mind. The rainbow of candies did help somewhat to occupy him, and the ideas of which one to come up with next continued to flow.

Suddenly George became aware of a presence, his nerves prickling like he had done something wrong.

"Hello, George." His mother said.

He slowly and deliberately put the box down, wiping his hands on his robes, and turned to face her. "Mum." Dutifully he reached forward to kiss her cheek; stiffly she let him. "I wouldn't have expected to see you here."

"Well…" She said, awkwardly, fiddling with her tote bag. "I had some errands to run, and I thought I might stop in to see how Alfred was coming along."

She made it sound like he was a project instead of a child. But he stayed calm as he answered her. "He's doing great, Mum, but you just missed him…he's gone for ice cream."

"Ice-cream." She said, raising her eyebrows. "Now that's a healthy lunch. Why am I not surprised?"

George sighed. Why, why must she make this so difficult? "He had a bowl of chili and a salad for lunch an hour ago; this is a treat. He's been helping out quite a lot here and he deserves it." George cursed himself inwardly for even feeling the need to defend himself on Alf's parenting.

Molly look partially satisfied, if somewhat skeptical, as she looked around the shop. Spotting Ron, she frowned. "Who took Alfred for ice-cream, then?"

"He's with Teddy Lupin…" George started, but she interrupted him wide eyed and scandalized.

"You sent two ten year olds out alone in Diagon Alley? Are you an _idiot _George Weasley? Do you _want_ him to get killed?"

George bristled. "They're not alone, they're with Andromeda, who last time I checked was one of your oldest friends and someone who I would have thought you'd have trusted with a child." He folded his arms in front of him. "Of course, I know that doesn't change your opinion of me as an idiot one bit, but…"

They were interrupted by a clatter of hooves and screams to get out of the way; a cry arose and someone shouted. And it was Andromeda's voice he heard, high and unnatural, yelling "NO! NO!" over and over again.

Terror filled George…his hands went clammy and his mouth ran dry; images of Fred, laid out in the Great Hall, flooded his mind. His mother slapped at his shoulder in like panic.

"I TOLD YOU…you weren't fit for this…" She started.

He didn't hear the rest, darting out of the store, the rest of the world seeming to move in slow motion, as he leapt around and over children and parcels, into the commotion outside.


	10. Chapter 10

Once outside, George stared at the chaos before him. A cart being pulled by thestrals…curse him that he could see them…had crashed to the side. One of the cart's wheels had tumbled off and boxes of pomegranates spilled over. The driver looked to the side, face pale… "I tried to stop…I couldn't…I couldn't…"

"GET OUT OF MY WAY!" George screamed, scrambling over the disaster, pushing past a shaken Andromeda Tonks and a crying Teddy.

Alf lay against Olivander's store-front, eyes closed, face gray, and George's world stopped.

Then blue eyes opened, clearly in pain, and spoke shakily. "M'okay, Uncle George."

Fear, anger and relief bubbled over, as George sank to his knees, tugging frantically at his hair. _Don't yell, don't yell, don't yell…_bubbled over in his mind; he remembered too well being more frightened by his parent's anger than his actual accidents as a child. And somewhere in his subconscious he remembered Fred talking about how insecure Alf was.

Molly was beside him, and she likewise reacted, only she let the anger bowl her over. "What were you thinking Alfred?!" She screeched, suddenly smacking him about the face and shoulders. "You could have been killed!"

George leapt up to protect his nephew, who was accepting the blows while trying to shield something small and wrapped in black beside him. "MUM, GEROFF HIM!" He yelled roughly. "Let him speak!"

"George…you can't let him walk over you like that…you've got to _punish_ him, or he'll end up just like _your brother_…" Molly started crying herself at that point.

It was Ron…eternally Ron, bless him…who pulled her off, otherwise George would have lost it entirely. 'C'mon, Mum, let George handle this…please, mum…I'll get you some tea and some sherry…it'll be alright."

Andromeda was stuttering out explanations. "He just darted out…I couldn't grab him."

Somebody behind him shushed her, and George took a deep breath; any anger melted away at the tearful and imploring look Alfred gave him. "I'm s-s-sorry!' He sniffed, trying to hold himself together. "I ha- ha- had too! He'd have been fl-fl-fl attened!"

"It's okay…" George soothed, stroking is nephew's cheek gently, letting the warmth of his being alive fill him. "It's okay, Alfred, I'm not angry. Now, what happened? Who would have been flattened?"

The black bundle Alf had been shielding moved at that moment, and an incredibly blond child, with pale skin and light blue eyes, looked up at him with trembling lips. "Mama?" He sniffled, grasping Alf tightly. The boy wasn't more than two years old.

Alf continued, with deep breaths. "Saw the carriage…" Alf said, wiping at his nose. "Teddy and me just crossed the street with his Gran. And then this little guy…his Mum called him from…from somewhere…and he went to f-f-f-ollow her…ran right out in front…wasn't time to tell anyone…I was the only…only one close enough…"

_Sweet merlin, I came so close to losing him!_ George closed his eyes for a moment, and then reached over to kiss Alfred very gently on the head. "I'm not mad." He said, gently. "I was scared to lose you, but I'm not mad. I would have done the same thing," he whispered.

Relief flooded Alf's eyes with tears, and the boy was about to speak when another voice interrupted. "My BOY! Where is my BOY! Out of the WAY!"

It was Draco Malfoy who burst into the circle.

People began to clear away now, seeing that there was no blood spilled. George looked up at an absolutely terrified Draco and felt simpatico with the man for the first time ever. The young toddler held his arms out to his father immediately, and Draco scooped him with a strangled sound that may very well have been a sob.

George remained kneeling by Alfred, and waited for Draco to imperiously accuse him of attacking his child, and threaten to have the law on him. It was what Lucius would have done.

Draco remained soothing the child for a few moments. "There now, Scorpius…it will be okay…it will…why did you run into the street, child?" He cooed, without any of the superciliousness George was used to.

"Mama called me." The boy sniffled. "Have to go when Mama calls!" He said, slowly.

Draco's look was thunderous. "Pansy!" He muttered under his breath. More to the boy, he added, "Your Mama shouldn't have left you alone."

George was glad not to be the former Pansy Parkinson at that moment.

"Weasley." Draco's cool silver eyes appraised him. "This is Fred's boy, I assume?"

"Alfred." George introduced. "Alf, this is Mr. Draco Malfoy. It's his son that you saved." George laid some stress on the "saved" part.

Malfoy, to George's shock, touched his hand to his heart and bowed his head to Alfred. "I am in your debt, Alfred Weasley. Thank you."

Alf nodded shakily. "I'm glad I was there, Sir."

Now Draco was looking over George. "I was…glad for you…" He said, sounding strained. "When I heard about finding Fred's son. You might not believe that, but it's true."

George had been in enough shock for the past fifteen minutes to simply accept Draco's assertion without snide comment. Besides, he'd seen the look on his face when he realized his son was safe. It was very much the same way George had felt about Alfred. Any man who could have that kind of love for someone couldn't be all bad.

"Thanks." George said, quietly. He spotted a woman down the street…Pansy…and saw her teetering slightly. Possibly drunk.

Poor Draco.

"I think your…er…wife…is looking for Scorpius." George said, quietly.

Draco's gaze was unfathomably steady and serious, then it faded to resigned. "Arranged marriages, Weasley." He said, tersely. "Are not what they are cracked up to be." But he looked down at the top of his son's head, and something in him softened. "But there are some rewards, I suppose." He sighed. "Again…I am in your debt." And he turned and walked away.

George stood stiffly and held out his hand to Alf, who didn't move to take it; his nephew was still pale and shaking. "C'mon, Alf…I told you I'm not angry." George coaxed. "And I promise I won't let your grandmother get anywhere near you."

Alf's lower lip trembled. "Hurt my arm, Uncle George. It hurts bad." He admitted, very quietly.

_Damned it, how could I not have noticed that! _George was back down beside him in a flash. "Where, Alf? Let me see."

Alfred used his right hand to pull his cloak away from his left arm, which was at a curious angle. Not good at all.

George reached down very gingerly, and took Alf's left hand in his, and Alf immediately whimpered, biting his lip hard. "Oh, dear." George said, hoping he sounded soothing rather than freaked out. He ran his hands along the bone and could swear he felt breaks in two places on his forearm and one between his elbow and shoulder. Alf was full blown shaking right now, in a whole lot of pain.

Teddy and Andromeda, calmer now that the two had seen Alf not killed, had come up beside them. George turned around. "Andromeda, do me a favor? Head in to the shop and ask Ron to get hold of Fleur…tell him Alf's been injured, although not life threatening, and I am bringing him up to the apartments the back way." He paused. "If you could manage to do that without letting Mum know, I'd appreciate it."

"Of course, George. Teddy and I will do whatever we can." She patted Alf on the head once, and Teddy gave him a brave smile, and they left.

Once they were gone, George looked back down at Alf. "Can you put your right arm around my neck, kiddo?" He asked gently. Alf nodded, and once he had done so George scooped one arm under Alf's knees. "I am going to try not to move your arm at all, Alfred, but it is likely to jostle some. It's going to hurt if it does, I'm sure. I don't mean to, but it probably will." He warned. And then he moved.

Poor little Alfred, so brave, George thought. The right hand had a death grip on his robes and the boy's head was buried deep against his neck; George could feel the wetness of tears but not a sound from the child. And he moved swiftly, knowing that the sooner he could get the boy stabilized the less it would hurt.

Within minutes he had the boy up through the back entrance and in the small kitchen of the apartment; he sat the lad up on the table and moved to get a towel to use as a makeshift sling.

"This will keep it immobile, lessen some of the pain…" He murmured.

"Un…uncle Geo..George…" Alf struggled out, and George looked down to his graying face.

He accio'd a basin just in time; the boy threw up his ice-cream, and a good portion of lunch as well.

"Chili cheese and black raspberry…not a combination I'd have gone for myself." George observed, and was relieved to hear Alf laugh.

Ron came in, looking worried despite the faint merriment in the air. "How is it?"

"Worse than the injury Harry got when Lockhart deboned his arm." George said, evenly.

"Ugh." Ron wrinkled his nose at the memory. "And I don't have good news…we can't get ahold of Fleur. Nobody home at the cottage…I asked Mum, without letting her know why I was asking, and she seemed to think the whole family had gone into town for a day with Bill's job.

George wanted to moan. Fleur had specialized in healing arts at Beaux Batons, and worked part time in the area hospital near the cottage. Her skills were even better than his mother's, and Mum had been pretty damned…oh, HELL.

"I need Mum, then, Ron." George sighed, and Ron moved to comply.

Alf's eyes grew wide. "No, Uncle George…please…she doesn't LIKE me!" Alf begged.

"She likes you just fine, Alf. That little scene outside was just her absolute terror that I had screwed up and gotten you killed."

"She's angry…it'll hurt." He begged again.

"Alfred…" George put his hands on his shoulders. "We've got to get that arm mended. Now, I know Mum's been hard on me, and she shouldn't have slapped at you just now, but she really is a very good healer…kept me and your dad in once piece for twenty years." Seeing just how scared Alf really was, he sat on the table beside him and wrapped an arm around the boy's chest. "And I'm not going to leave you alone."

Molly came bustling in from the other room in a hurry, with a basin of supplies. George could hear her tut-tuting already, and was pleased to see that Ron's ministrations…or the sherry…had seemed to cure her anger.

Alf, of course, was not adept at reading Molly Weasley, and George felt him stiffen and cringe, shrinking back against his Uncle.

Molly noticed it, George saw. How could she not? There was hurt in her eyes, but really she had brought that on herself, coming out swinging and slapping Alfred around the face for the audacity of saving the life of a child. Some of those blows must have hurt, and none of it could have been good for his broken limb.

"There, now, Alfred…let me see your arm…I'll try not to hurt you…" She soothed. Alf let her…but he kept a tight grip on George's hand with his good one. But when Molly raised her hand to brandish her wand, Alf yelped and ducked his head against George's chest.

Molly gaped, made a slight "Oh…" with her mouth, and finally looked at George.

He spoke calmly to his nephew. "It's alright, Alf…what's going to happen is Mum is going to use the wand to see where the breaks are in your bones…it will let her know where the repairs have to be done. Kind of like a muggle z-ray." He brushed the hair away from Alf's forehead softly.

"X-ray." Alf said, with a shaky smile.

"X-ray…see how smart you are!" Molly said to him, imploring. Alfred looked at her tentatively, still wary, and Molly took a deep breath. "And I'm sorry for how I acted outside. You scared me, and I reacted badly. Will you accept my apology?"

George almost fell over! Molly _never_ apologized. Not that she usually hit them, either…but the occasional rare slapping frenzy happened when she had been pushed to abject terror by a wayward prank. He, Charlie, Fred and Ron had been frequent recipients of the frenzies; George more than any other, and he'd yet to ever hear his mother say she was sorry!

With a sniff, Alfred nodded and bravely held his arm out for Molly to examine; George exhaled with relief. Molly's wand ran over the swollen, red limb, her mouth pursed in a frown. "What did you think outside, George?" She asked, concentrating.

"I thought I found three breaks…two forearm, one just above his elbow." George said, holding Alf's hand.

"Mmmm." Molly nodded. "Exactly right. Not compound, fortunately." She looked up at him. "Did you decide to stabilize him with the towel?"

"Yeah…" George mumbled, waiting for her to disparage him.

"Excellent thinking." George felt fortunate he was sitting down at that point, else he knew he would have fallen. "Of course…you and your brother had your share of broken limbs in your day, so I can't give you too much credit." She winked at Alf, and gave George a tentative smile, which he braved answering back.

Some fifteen minutes later, which Alf toughed through without even a whimper (although George thought his hand would go numb from the death-grip), Molly sighed. "That's a start then." She pushed her hair back, worried. "I sent your brother out for some Skele-knit before I came up here; that should finish it off."

"Ugh." George frowned in sympathy. "Just rejoining the bones wasn't enough?" He asked.

Molly shook her head. "Not with three fractures I won't risk it. They didn't break skin, but they were out of alignment."

Alf was looking back and forth between them. "But my arm feels loads better now, Uncle George." He looked over at Molly. "That was pretty wicked!"

George saw Molly beat back the tears in her eyes, and he was glad that he was behind his nephew; in so simple a statement, he had sounded just like his Dad. But Molly managed a smile at the boy, hiding how the innocent statement hurt her. "I can stick your bones together with just my wand, right enough. But what's stronger…two pieces of wood glued together, or a tree branch that has grown?"

"Tree branch." Alf said. He turned about to look at George. "I take it you don't think I'm going to like this skele-stuff much?"

"Better skele-knit than skele-grow." George said, giving him a squeeze. "But yeah, the stuff's pretty nasty, and, well, kind of painful."

Alf sighed. "Can't be worse than how it felt when I landed on it." He accepted a glass of water from Molly with his good hand, and drank it down; George raised eyebrows when he saw that Molly had also gotten him a bowl of ice-cream.

"Such indulgence, Mum?" He said, sounding serious. "Why am I not surprised?" Molly shot him a withering look even as Alfred gave him eyes wide with hunger. "Well, I _guess _it's okay, since you just threw up your last ice-cream, not to mention every other thing you've eaten for the past month."

"Shock, dear." Molly said, even as Alf began to awkwardly wolf down the bowl of jelly-worm jiggle. "And George, I can't believe you didn't have something like a butter pecan!"

"Hello, Mum…my name is George Weasley. Apparently we've never met." He intoned in a formal voice, and she laughed…she actually laughed at his joke.

"Oi, there, one bottle of Skele-Grow handy. And yes, Mum, I know you wanted Skele-Knit. Madame Pomfrey happened to be through Diagon Alley this morning stocking up for school year; I'm lucky I got this!" Ron looked between Molly and George, saw them actually acting friendly, and gave them a beaming smile.

Neither Molly or George were smiling, though. Ron had somehow managed to make it through childhood without breaking a limb, but George, as Molly had joked, had broken his leg twice, his arm once, and most excruciatingly five ribs in a Quidditch match. Rebreaking his leg had necessitated Skele-Grow, which gave you the firmest bone recreation, and had rendered the limb much stronger to prevent a future break. George had been fourteen, and the pain had been so bad that he'd nearly swallowed his pillow to prevent from screaming; Fred had actually got up and sat with him all night long.

Molly could see that George remembered the pain well. "I'm sorry, dear, but there's no other option." She said, gently.

Alf put down the ice-cream, looked from Ron to George to Molly, and finished off the water. "I guess we might as well get this over with?" His voice was rather small.

Molly poured out the thick, pea-green potion, which smelled something akin to three year old milk. Alf's face went a similar color, and his lip curled. But with effort he took the glass, set his shoulders, and tossed it back in one gulp.

George held him tightly, in anticipation. For a second Alf didn't do more than make a grimace at the taste of the stuff; then his face paled and he started shaking again. "Ooooooooo…" He moaned.

George immediately hopped off the table and picked him up, walking over the floor with the boy. Really, he was too big to do this with, but he couldn't think of anything else. Alf actually bit down on his good hand hard enough to draw blood, and that wasn't enough to contain the pain. "Ohhhhhhh…" He moaned. "Owwwwwww…." And abandoning all effort, he started crying…

Absolutely the worst sound George had ever heard in his life. He was sick listening to Alfred struggle hard against the desire to absolutely howl in agony, choking gasps of pain against his robes. "S'alright, Alfred, s'alright." Molly and Ron faded into the background; only Alfred existed. "You cry all you want to; the robes are waterproof. Sides, the first hour is the worst; then the pain dulls from scorching torture down into merely excruciating agony…" A sob mingled with a strangled laugh. "…And from there, it's quite down hill to white hot throbbing, and before you know it your at stinging pain." Another choked laugh, before a fresh wave of pain rolled over the boy, and George sat, rocking him back and forth, murmuring gently the entire time.

George's arms were numb and his shirt soaked before the sobs steadied and then stopped, and Alfred's breathing became regular. Exhausted with his torment, he had fallen asleep.

He said nothing; merely carried his nephew into his cozy bedroom and laid the boy on the bed, being gentle with the mending arm. Shaking his own arms out, he waved his wand and the boy's clothes were replaced with pajamas; he pulled blankets up to his chin and smoothed his forehead. With any luck the kid would sleep the rest of the healing off and wake up right as rain the next morning.

He stumbled back into the living room, only to feel his legs give way.

Someone grabbed him and led him to the couch; someone hugged him close as he bent over, head onto his knees, and cried himself.

"Shh, Georgie. The worst is over now. All over now, he'll be fine." His mother let him put his head in her lap, rubbing his upper back between his shoulders. "Easy, now, that's a love. Never even lost your sense of humor, you didn't, and that's something to be proud of. Made him less scared, when you didn't let him see how scared you were." George felt the cool of Molly's hand against his cheek, and he let himself calm down.

"How'd you do it, mum?" He murmured. "Putting seven of us back together over and over again? How did you do it without it eating you alive?"

"That was my job, dear." She said, running her hands through his hair. Then, she spoke more softly. "I'm sorry, Georgie. So sorry for not believing in you. You were wonderful with him. Absolutely wonderful. And he clearly loves you so much…" Molly's voice hitched slightly.

George pulled himself together, and sat up, and gave his mother a long hug, which she returned. "He'll love you too, mum…if you let him see you like this." He said. "Merlin, I can't imagine how I've come to love him so much so quickly."

"It only takes a second…" Molly murmured. Letting him go, she patted his hand and rose. "Fine kitchen you have here, darling. Let me make you some dinner…Ronnie and Percy went home. Think you can stomach my cooking?"

With a wan smile, George let her know it was just fine by him, her staying a bit longer. He leaned back on the couch, exhausted by everything that had just happened, but hyperaware of sounds…sounds from the street, the sound of his mother in the kitchen…at this moment it seemed impossible they had not always been this close…and the sound of Alf, breathing steadily in the bedroom behind him.

A bowl of hot beef stew was in his hands, far better than he could ever turn out. Molly, clearly in her element, was cleaning now, although she was praising him beneath her breath all the same, apparently astounded that he was keeping such a tidy house and had actually stocked his larder so well.

He grinned into his bowl. "I eat much better with Alf around…if you'd come here two months ago you wouldn't have found much more than condiments." He admitted.

With a whoosh, Fleur came through the floo. "George…I have only just now 'eard about Alf's arm! 'Ow is 'e?" She asked, carrying a full kit with her.

Molly might have been smug, but she opted to keep the mood light in the room. "Don't worry, Fleur, my dear. I was able to handle it. I know you could have done as well, but I was on the scene, so…" She shrugged modestly.

Fleur looked from Molly to George, who gave her a comforting smile, and relaxed. "I am glad, Molly. I would have been so very sorry if Alfred had been forced to stay in pain waiting for treatment." She tossed her head, then she saw the bottle of Skele-Grow, and her eyes went wide.

"George…" She whispered. "Molly…tell me…you did not give him this?"

Now Molly began to be cross… "I wanted Skele KNIT of course, because I knew how unpleasant the more powerful potion is…but it was all that we had!" She crossed her arms.

Fleur turned to George, and put her hand on her mouth in horror. "George…but I thought…" She took a deep breath. "Perhaps I am wrong, George…but I have been watching Alf since we found him, and I thought for sure…he is a squib, no?"

George was startled that anyone had realized what he had begun to suspect, but Molly went nuts. "A SQUIB? MY FRED'S SON, A SQUIB? Really, Fleur, what on earth would possess you to make such a horrible accusation! George, dear, tell her…"

Oh, Lord, and things had been going so well. He wiped his hand over his face. "Actually, Mum…I don't know for sure but she might be right."

Molly stood, open mouthed, and Fleur sat, shaking, with her hand over her mouth. George looked from one to the other in total confusion. "I realize it seems impossible for anyone who knew Fred and Katie…but Katie said in the letter…you saw it, Mum, when Percy took it from me?...that Alf was different, and that was why she stayed away from the magical world. Since then, I've been watching him. He hasn't show a single sign of magic, Mum. I was actually just going to talk with the family about it, because I'm not quite sure what to do. Maybe there was some trauma when he was a kid, some kind of accident, but I'm pretty sure Alf is as magic as Hermione's parents."

Fleur suddenly dug through her kit, sending potions flying, and Molly was helping her. "Ipecac! We need the Ipecac."

"'Ow long, Molly, since you gave it to 'im?"

"Oh, oh…two hours at least…" She moaned. "No, this can't be happening…I've KILLED him…I have…they tell you to check, you should always check…but, Fred's son?"

George was feeling the terror build up in him. "I don't understand?"

Fleur turned around, with sympathy, a syrupy potion in her hand. "Skele-Grow, George, has got extract of Egyptian Asp in it…it is what causes the pain. It is highly…highly poisonous to muggles...and squibs!"

The three of them dashed madly into Alf's room then; the boy was deeply asleep. Too deeply.

Fleur looked astounded. "'E still breathes! This is good…" She tried to pour down the ipecac, and Molly stood by with a basin. He threw up some…but not much. And he did not wake up.

George didn't say a word…merely looked at his frantic sister in law, and stunned mother, and turned and walked out of the room.

"George! George!" Molly ran after him, as he grabbed his jacket. "Where are you going?"

George turned and looked at her, eyes dead. "You didn't kill him, Mum. I did. False pride, thinking I could solve his problems by myself. Never told anyone what I was afraid of. I killed Fred's son." His voice sounded strangely dry. "I can see it in your face…he won't be waking up. You were right; I didn't belong within five feet of that boy."

Fleur had heard the commotion and was now anxiously flooing to Ron, and then to Ginny. George ignored it all.

Molly again begged George. "Stay, he'll want to see you…if he were a pure squib, the poison would have killed him immediately…that's something, George…if he wakes up, he'll want you here!"

"If?" George's voice strangled on the word. "No, mum…you were right about me. I'm a first class fuck up, always have been. But never quite with stakes this…high." Choking, he turned to leave.

Molly was terrified; she knew, too well, that if anything happened to Alf that George would never forgive himself for leaving. So she did the only thing she could.

"STUPEFY!"


	11. Chapter 11

George was aware of voices murmuring; people coming in…frustrated, he tried to break free from his bonds, but to no avail. Molly was an impressive wizard in her own right, as anyone who saw her take out Belatrix LeStrange could attest to. Ron and Percy had moved his stupefied body to the sofa after Molly's hasty explanations as to why she'd resorted to cursing him. Ron had looked down at him with pity, muttering, "Sorry, Mate…but we're not risking losing you."

A tear ran down the side of his face that he couldn't control, or wipe away…he felt it trickle over the warped skin of his missing ear and dance on the side of the hole. It was Harry who came out after half an hour and noticed, wiping it away with a tissue, and putting his hand gently on George's head.

"You're going to get even with us all at some point, I have no doubt." Harry gave him a wry smile. "But we wanted you to be here, in one piece, when Alfred gets better." George felt a flicker of hope mingle with his fear. "He is coming round, you know…and yes, you had quite the scare. Interesting…Fleur tested him and he is showing the signs of being a squib, but he must have some magic core to have tolerated the skele-grow. He probably suffered some injury as a child."

George couldn't move, couldn't blink, couldn't do more than stare at the ceiling of course. His mind was easier for what Harry told him, but he still felt like an abysmal failure. He had two jobs: to love Alfred and keep him safe. Doing the first didn't atone for his failure at the second.

There was a commotion in the other room, and fear clawed once more at his insides. And above the din, a voice called to him. "Uncle George?" It was plaintive, weak, but frightened. And then it wasn't so weak any more, but insistent, crying out for him: "_Uncle George_!"

_Why, why won't somebody release me? _George thought, frantically. He could hear other voices raised and some kind of commotion happening.

"UNCLE GEORGE!" Alfred commanded.

With a forceful burst of power and a noise like thunder, George burst through the confines of Molly's spell and roared upwards. Moving past a shocked Arthur and a room full of brothers and friends, he dove for Alfred, who was thrashing about in his bed, arms reaching for him.

"I'M HERE!" George said, grasping Alf tightly. "I'm right here, I'm right here. I've got you."

Alfred was hyperventilating, breathing hard and sweating profusely. "You were going…I heard…I heard you leaving and I couldn't wake up!"

George wrapped up Alf in an even greater grip, rocking him back and forth. "Well, I'm here now. And I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

"No, no, you don't want me, you don't want me, I'm a squib! I know I'm a squib, I can't do magic at all! You'll make me go back, make me leave…I don't want to leave!" He gulped out, in very real terror.

"Alfred Weasley!" George tried his best to sound stern, and must have succeeded, because with a hiccup Alf's anxious cries came to a stop. "Now you listen to me! I was ready to run to Bulgaria with you before I'd known you two days. This has been the best summer I've had in ten years, and that was entirely without you doing any silly wand-waving!" He put both hands firmly on Alfred's shoulders, not quite shaking him, but not letting him move, either. "Remember what we said to each other in the beginning! We BELONG, Alf, you and I…we BELONG to each other and nothing is going to change that!"

Alf seemed to calm down, but still looked at George with wide, trembling eyes. "Th…then why were you leaving? I heard…someone…say you were le…leaving?"

George cursed himself. Molly had been right…Alf needed him here. He'd given up, just thrown things in at the first site of trouble, and nearly broken Alf's heart. "I got scared, Alf." George whispered, easing his grip on the boys shoulders, turning the grasp into a caress. "I got scared that you were going to die because I'd been too stupid to let anyone know you might be different. And I was scared that even if you didn't die, you wouldn't forgive me for putting you in danger."

Alf hugged him. "Don't go…don't ever go. You didn't do anything wrong…but I forgive you if you think you did, anyway." He said, calming noticeably. "I love you." He whispered.

"I love you too, kiddo." George said, pressing Alf in close to him.

George was aware of Arthur shooing the rest of the family out of the room. Only Molly stayed behind, eyes watery. She put a trembling hand on George's shoulder. "Will you forgive _me_, love?" She asked him. "For cursing you?

George turned wide eyes to his mother. "Forgive? More like thank, Mum. I…panicked. Shouldn't have done that."

Molly seemed on the brink of saying something, but with a sigh she changed her mind. "You get some sleep, Georgie. Fleur is going to stay to see if Alf needs anything."

"Can't you stay, Mum?" George implored, though that was a question he'd not imagined asking her before today. "I'd like for you to be here."

Molly's face lit up. "Really?"

He smiled at her. "Really, mum."

Molly reached forward and kissed him, then pushed him gently so he was laying on the bed with Alf in his arms, and she tucked them both in. "I'll be right in the living room if you need me, son. You could both use a few hours of rest, I'd say."

George smiled at her. "Thanks mum." And, more tentatively. "I love you."

Molly set her shoulders; George saw the strangest look in her eyes and for a minute he was afraid she wouldn't respond. But then: "I love you too."

A burden, larger than he realized and perhaps for even longer than ten years, slipped away in that moment. It was going to be alright, no matter what; it was going to be alright.

WWWWWWWW

George woke up to the smell of coffee and baking cinnamon rolls. Careful not to disturb his nephew, whose color was good and breathing easy, he slid out of bed and went to join his mother.

"Good morning, Dear." Molly smiled at him, and immediately got him a plate. "I know you always favored cinnamon rolls; not sure about Alfred, but…well, I haven't made these in a long time."

Ten years, George thought. They had been Fred's favorite as well. "Heavenly, Mum!" George said, his appetite hitting him with force. "I feel like I haven't eaten in ages!"

Molly chuckled. "I made two batches."

A silence fell over the room, save for the voice of Celestina Warbeck playing from the oldie's station on the radio. George couldn't talk…not with his mouth full off flaky cinnamon buns slathered in butter and oozing with icing. Molly seemed, on several points, to be about to speak, but hesitated. At last, as she removed a second tray of rolls from the oven, she was left with nothing else to do, and she sat across from George, a mug in her hand.

George wiped his mouth on the napkin, and took a deep drink of coffee. "You okay, Mum?"

She gave him a smile, but it was wan. "Not entirely, George, dear. I have to tell you a story…" She paused. "It isn't one I ever thought I'd be telling you." Another pause. "But I think…George, last night I think I let myself be honest with you for the first time in nearly thirty years. And I have some explaining to do."

George reached over and grabbed her hand. "Look, Mum…you don't have to explain anything. If you want to, fine…but I am just as fine with going forward." He smiled and looked at Alfred's jacket, draped over the chair. "I decided to stop looking backwards two months ago."

Molly nodded. "Yes, dear…but for me, you see, I think I need to do this…to tell you this story. It's the story of a very foolish woman whose fourth child ended up being twins." Seeing George about to interrupt, she held a hand. "Dear, please…I _was_ foolish, even if it took me thirty years to know it. Let me get it out, George. I may not be so brave again."

George sat back, in wonder, and nodded to her to continue.

"Not long after I found out I was pregnant, we received word that your Uncles were killed. I know you've heard stories about Fabian and Gideon, my beloved and eternally trouble making twin brothers. It devastated me…and the times were so uncertain, Voldemort about and everyone looking over their shoulders, that I didn't know what to think. Until the Doctor told me that I was having twins…it was a miracle, George. It was the only thing that could make me happy with my brothers gone.

"It was your Dad who suggested that if we had two boys…and I was certain I would…that we name them after your Uncles. But I knew well enough…Fabian had ALWAYS hated his name. It came from a particularly vile relative and he refused to even acknowledge it if you called him by that…he went, if you could believe it, by FANG." Molly laughed lightly, and George smiled at the joke.

"Well, naming my unborn child FANG was out of the question. So to me, at that moment, you became Fred and Gideon. And that's how I started talking to you, while you were still in my womb…Fred and Gideon. Even Bill, who was just seven years old, took up on it. If you lot had turned out to be girls, I don't know what we'd have done.

"But just at my eighth month, the Doctor pulled a long face. He hemmed and hawed before he gave me the bad news. The babies were front to back in my womb, he said. He thought maybe you two were co-joined. What he told me and your Dad definitely though…one baby was strong and healthy; the other was too tiny to live. Fred was going to be just fine, but Gideon, though he was alive, was as good as dead."

"You can imagine what that did to me, George dear. We didn't tell your brothers, how could we? But it was in my thoughts the remainder of my time…the Doctor had scheduled surgery for three weeks down the road. And in private, your Dad and I mourned. Still, I talked to you, talked to you both all the time. I wanted, you see, for Gideon to know how loved he was, if he wasn't going to get to know his family. And I wanted Fred to remember he'd had a twin brother. Foolish, I suppose. But it made me feel better.

"Then I went in for the surgery…I was awake, under a strong potion that numbed me but kept my mind clear. The doctor had wanted to knock me out, but I refused. And then, things got interesting…

_Molly held on to Arthur's hand, head propped forward and eyes clear. Molly was no coward; she had already given birth to three babies, and if this time it was a little different, that the babies would have to be removed, well, she would just bear it. But she wanted to be awake. _

"_Molls, are you sure?" Arthur looked down at her in sympathy._

"_Arthur." She spoke clearly. "If Gideon is alive when they take him out, I don't want to miss it. I want to hold him for however long I can. I don't think I could bear finding out he'd been alive and died without his mother ever holding him."_

_Arthur looked at her with his eyes misty, and they waited while the Doctor began the surgery._

_Molly knew this was hard for her husband to watch, but she couldn't feel a thing, and what was a little blood? Finally, the Doctor exclaimed. "Not co-joined…that's good." He said, lifting a child from within her. He was healthy, and pink, and within seconds was howling with perfect lungs at the interruption of what must have been a nice warm sleep. Tears hit Molly's eyes; in the back of her mind she had feared somehow losing them both._

"_There's our Fred, eh?" Arthur had said, watching as the nurse quickly cleaned the baby with a wave of her wand, and wrapped him up. "You won't believe it but he has red hair!'_

_Molly laughed, holding Arthur's hand tightly, and then biting her lip when the nurse called out. "Doctor…take a look at this."_

_The Doctor left Fred to address Gideon, still in the womb. The nurse assisted him, and Molly heard the Doctor swear under his breath._

_A baby larger than she'd expected was pulled from Molly. Not as big as Fred, surely, but still as big as she remembered Percy, no? And then…he cried…not as loud as Fred, nor as piercing…but still with a presence that announced he was here._

"_I want to hold him!" Molly cried out, as the Doctor whisked him away. "Please let me hold him before he…before he…"_

_The nurse rested Fred in her arms, and soothed her. "You'll get to hold him, Mrs. Weasley. I think your boys have pulled a fine practical joke on us!'_

_Arthur spoke, which was a good thing because Molly was afraid of what she would do if he didn't say something. "Where is my SON?"_

_The Doctor, looking rather sheepish, brought over the wrapped, pink bundle himself and laid him in Molly's arms. "He's here. He is a perfectly healthy baby boy, just under five pounds. Needs to be fed, but other than that…"_

_Arthur glared at him. "Do you know what we've been through these past weeks?" He snapped._

_Molly grabbed his wrist, as she looked down at her perfect, tiny, second twin. "Arthur, Dear…" She soothed. "Now's not the time for that."_

_Arthur had come to her then, and the two of them had looked down in amazement at their beautiful boys. The nurse came by with a note pad. "Names, please?" She asked._

"_Frederick Arthur…" He laid his hand on the larger baby. "And Gid…"_

"_No!" Molly said, immediately._

_Arthur looked surprised. "But, Molls, I thought we had decided."_

_Molly shook her head emphatically. "We've been mourning Gideon for three weeks, Arthur. We gave up on Gideon. This..." She cooed down at the tiny babe nestled in the crook of her left arm. "This isn't Gideon." With great assurance, she looked at the nurse. "This is George."_

_Arthur gave her a smile of understanding, and went off to make sure that the formal paperwork was complete._

Molly smiled at him. "It really should have clued me in as to how much of an adventure raising you boys was going to be, that you pranked us on the way into the world."

George was leaning back now in the chair, arms behind his head, looking in some amusement at his mother. "Quite ingenious of me, if I do say so. Doctor ever tell you how he came to make such a mistake?"

Molly snorted. "He ASSUMED. Assumed that because Fred was hiding you, and he couldn't see you, that because Fred was slightly larger for a twin, that you were doomed. He never knew for sure."

George raised eyebrows. "He is lucky you didn't hex him into the next world, Mum." George ran his hands through his hair. "But I don't see what this has to do with now, exactly…except that I can't imagine myself as a Gideon."

Molly looked vaguely disturbed, but she pushed another cinnamon roll on him and sighed deeply. "I was just getting to that part."

_Three months later, Molly was in the back yard at the Burrow, her new babies in bassinettes. Charlie and Bill were at a day school down the road, and Percy was taking a nap. And she had an opportunity to just be with her newborns, cooing and smiling and making faces at them, and watching how they delighted in it._

_They had distinctive personalities already, as much as they looked alike. Fred was self-assured, stronger, louder. He commanded and enjoyed attention, and reminded her much of Charlie as a baby. Little George, on the other hand, was the sly one…the one who would steal your heart with quiet smiles and coos. He was smiling at Molly now, her brother Gideon's quiet smile, the one that was steadfast and loving and sweet._

_Mothers, she knew, weren't supposed to have favorites. And she loved all her boys with a ferocity that was frightening. Some might think she favored Bill slightly, because she talked about him so much, but really she talked about him because he was the oldest. Bill was doing everything first, and a part of Molly knew that his brothers would always be playing catch-up to him._

_But this little one…her George…seemed to have an extra strong claim on her heart. Maybe it was Gideon's smile, maybe it was that he was a tad gentler, or that he seemed to be so purely HERS. He quieted immediately when she picked him up; he seemed to sense when she was tired and he would demand less. He even seemed to sense when she was sad…and in these days, with You Know Who running wild, there were plenty of sad days…and somehow George would do something, manage something, a new sound or a new face…that made her laugh. She knew it wasn't possible for any three month old to be that in tune with the world around him, but she decided to suspend her disbelief. _

"_Ah, there you are, Molly." A voice called, and Molly looked up to see her Aunt Muriel stepping gingerly over the uneven ground. "There with your changelings, are you?"_

_Molly frowned. Muriel had never had children and really didn't seem to be able to abide by them; having her here was a sad trial she only endured for the sake of family. "They're not changelings!" She retorted. "Fred and George are perfect!"_

_Muriel came over and grimaced down at them. "Isn't he…" She pointed down at George. "Supposed to be dead, Molly?"_

_Now Molly was beyond annoyed, but outright angry. "The Doctor made a mistake. My George is just fine."_

_Muriel shook her head. "Can't cheat death like that, Molly my dear. You KNOW that to be true. Death will come for the child…you had just better hope he spares the rest of you. Death doesn't like being gainsayed."_

"_What nonsense!" Molly stood quickly, to get between Muriel and her boys, who were starting to fret from the presence of their harsh Aunt. "The Doctor MADE A MISTAKE."_

_Muriel snapped right back. "Don't Nonsense me, Molly Prewitt. If your Mother had listened to me, maybe your brothers would still be alive. We can't abide by twins in this family, Molly…seven sets in the past four hundred years, and not one set who both lived to see the age of twenty-one. And in four of the cases, their deaths resulted in family catastrophes. Look at Gideon…getting Fabian killed like that."_

_Molly was shaking. She knew there had been other twins in the Prewitt line, going back a long time ago, but who kept such track of things? And what was this about blaming Gideon for Fabian's death? "Gideon and Fabian died fighting Voldemort, Muriel."_

_Muriel smirked. "Aye…but look at the records, Molly…and see if I'm not right that Gideon went charging in to the battle earlier, and Fabian followed. See if I'm not right!"_

_Molly didn't pay any attention to Muriel. She never had before, why start now? And yet…and yet the fear crept into her heart. After putting both boys down for their nap together (always together; they screeched the house down if put down alone) she looked up the family tree. Sure enough there had been several sets of twins years back, and equally surely at least one of the pairs of twins had died before the age of twenty-one._

_It gnawed at her, at first. Though most of those sets of twins, save her brothers, had been centuries ago. And her brothers, she reminded herself, had both made it OVER twenty-one. She considered smugly pointing this out to Muriel, but knew ahead of time what the answer would be: yes, and didn't it get them both killed for defying death?_

_But time marched on. Molly was a busy mother with five babies. She didn't have time to pay a thought to Muriel's spitefulness. She even made a point of NOT inviting her Aunt to special occasions. Why should the twins birthdays be marred by such fear-mongering? Like living in a world of You-know-Who wasn't bad enough!_

_But it was hard, she thought…and Arthur agreed…to think of Voldemort when one had Fred and George in the room. By their second birthday the boys had the uncanny ability to make everyone laugh, even Percy, who was by nature a serious child. Fred would announce his tricks and feats with a "bang"; squealing in delight when he made Charlie's hair stand up on end, or when he managed to stack Bill's blocks in an inverted pyramid. George was the subtle one; the one whom you would find very quietly levitating the cat (who fortunately loved it), or, Molly's personal favorite, getting into the healing supplies. _

_The morning of their second birthday, she lost sight of George for just a few minutes. He found her…swathed in bandages and limping. Before she could fear the worst, George told her proudly… "Look, Mummy…I'm a Mummy too! RrrrRRRR!" He growled. Molly laughed for nearly half an hour, utterly unable to scold the child as she unpeeled his wrapping from him._

_That afternoon, the boys were amusing themselves, not realizing the meager celebrathion that would await them that evening. Molly had been very pregnant with Ron, and just didn't seem to have the energy for much more. So it was with surprise that she'd looked up to the window to see Lily Potter waving to her, and she invited the younger woman in. _

_Now, Molly had barely known the Potters…they'd missed each other at school, with Molly graduating two years before Lily had even started. But of course she knew OF Lily and her husband James. They were in the order, with Gideon and Fabian, and she had seen them at their funeral. As Molly gave Lily a welcoming hug, she realized the younger woman was pregnant with her own first child. And, surprisingly, she came in bearing gifts for the twins._

"_Oh, Lily…you didn't have to!" Molly handed the packages to Fred and George, who proceeded to tear through the wrappings like the confetti was more important than the present._

"_James and I wanted to do something…" Lily said, pushing her dark red hair out of her face. "Fabian and Gideon were wonderful to us, and we feel like these two are keeping a part of their legacy going on."_

_Molly had blinked at the unexpected kind words, and knew in that moment that she would do anything for Lily._

_The boys, meanwhile, were gobsmacked. For each of them had gotten toy brooms, something which Molly and Arthur had contemplated, but just couldn't afford in duo. Maybe Christmas, if they saved. Shame, too, since Percy had a broom._

_The boys were wide eyed. Fred looked at what George held, and George looked at Fred's, to make sure they had, indeed, gotten identical toys. And then they both squealed in delight, clapping excitedly._

_Molly smiled, blinking tears out of her eyes. "That was so wonderful of you, Lily!"_

_Lily smiled back. "Our children will be at Hogwarts together." She touched her swollen belly, and looked over at Molly shyly. "It would be wonderful if they are friends."_

_It was George who interrupted them; Fred was already trying, with extreme determination, to mount his broom; George had toddled over, clutching his to his heart. He put a hand on Lily's knee. "Tank you, Lileeeee." He turned his head engagingly to one side, and then patted Lily's belly. "Baby?" He asked._

_Lily was enchanted. "Yes, George, I'm having a baby just like your Mum!"_

_George had nodded sagely. "Yes, like Mum." He thought hard for a moment, chewing his lip. "Who you baby's brothers?"_

_Molly watched as Lily tried hard not to laugh. "My baby is the oldest, so he doesn't have any brothers."_

"_He?" Molly asked, and Lily blushed, whispering, "I just have a hunch, Molly…"_

_George looked very grave and concerned. "Baby NEEDS brothers." He chewed his lower lips thoughtfully. "Fred!" He called._

_Fred crashed off his broom, laughing, and toddled over. George looked at him and took his hand. "Lilee's baby needs brothers." They looked at each other, communicating in that way that they had. And then, together, they put their hands on Lily's belly. "We be his brothers!"_

_It was a promise that Molly would remember years later, with bittersweet pride_

George was gaping at Molly. "I didn't, really? That's so sweet it's disgusting, Mum!"

"Oh, hush!" Molly said, flicking the dishtowel at George's hand. "It was adorable, and what's more, it's true, isn't it? Even before Harry married your sister?"

George was studying his coffee thoughtfully. "I suppose it was. Remember seeing poor Harry trying to get his trunk up on the Hogwarts express, and we helped him out. Fred and I both thought it was pretty rum, kid having to see himself off to Hogwarts, trying to manage alone…let's face it, 'alone' wasn't really a concept we ever got." George snorted. "Who knew Harry would end up being the ruddy strongest wizard of our generation?"

Molly looked on him with unabashed pride. "Well of course you didn't, you didn't NEED to. You helped him out because you had good hearts, you and your brother, not because you saw any advantage to it."

George smiled, but it didn't fully reach his eyes. "Wish I could have remembered Harry's Mum. He would have liked that." He sighed, then looked carefully at Molly. "Cute as this is, Mum…and as rewarding as it is to know I'm not the only person who finds Aunt Muriel to be a festering boil of a human being…I get the feeling this isn't quite what you wanted to talk to me about?"

His mother sighed. "You are right, Dear. I'm just procrastinating…and maybe I wanted you to know I wasn't always such a terrible mother."

"I never said…"

"Shhh." She soothed, grasping his hand. "Let me get this out."

_A year later, Molly was ambling through Diagon Ally. Fred and George were strapped securely into their stroller, both active three year olds being kept amused by new books that made funny sounds and motions. Molly had been relieved to have Arthur looking after one-year old Ronnie, for she was pregnant again, due in about a month with her seventh child. She hoped it wasn't wrong of her to fervently wish for a girl._

_She hadn't seen pretty Lily Potter in some time. The Potters had been forced to go in to hiding some time ago, at the suggestion of Albus Dumbledore, and for Molly a visit was out of the question, not with her wild brood. Molly did get a letter…one that announced the birth of young Harry, just a few months after Ronnie. In fact, the boy's birthday was surely just past!_

"_Mum!" George sang out to her, holding up his book for her to admire. On the page, a dragon flew in circles, blowing fire that caused real smoke. _

"_Excellent, Dear!" She said, and decided to get the boys ice-cream. A treat that would have been beyond her if she'd had all the kids here…but, well, she reserved the right to spoil her twins once in a while!_

_So for a few minutes she found herself enjoying a double-butter pecan, while Fred and George exclaimed with delight over Jelly Worm Jiggle. And then a strange woman, looking other-worldly, with wide eyes and oversized glasses, seemed to materialize out of nowhere. Not that THAT was so strange in Diagon Ally, but this was enough to startle her._

_The woman played with her copious beads, and looked down at the happily slurping twins. "Doppelgangers!" She murmured, peering over them like they were a science experiment. "Changelings!"_

"_Can I HELP you?" Molly said, in the exasperation of a pregnant woman just a few weeks from delivery. _

_The glittering woman tittered lightly. "Muriel told me about these." She tut-tutted; Molly was not angry to see Fred surreptitiously wipe his hands on her skirt. And the woman spoke again. "One is marked for death, is he not? So sad, so sad!"_

_Molly felt fear grab at her heart, but refused to give in! Clearly this old fraudulent bat had been briefed by Muriel. "Who ARE you?" She snapped._

"_Sybill Trelawney…just hired to teach divination at Hogwarts." The glittery woman replied, not taking her eyes off the boys. "Which one is it?" She asked._

_Molly was flabbergasted that Dumbledore would make such a mistake to hire this…this evil creature. "Get away from my boys!"_

_The glittering eyes batted at her questioningly. "But my dear, it is not me you have to fear, but you yourself. Tell me, which one do you love least?"_

_Molly's mouth dropped. "I…sorry?"_

"_Surely you have one you love least…of all your children, but of these two as well. You are only human after all, and if you favor one, then you are disfavoring the other, no?"_

_Molly couldn't speak; she was imagining the particular lilt her heart gave when her George smiled up at her in that gentle way of his._

"_Ah." Trelawney said. "I thought so. You must not, you know; you must not favor one. That leads to bad things; the one favored never benefits, never at all. It won't do, for the one favored suffers."_

_Molly stood and moved to wheel her children away. "I'll thank you." She said acerbically, "To keep your opinions on motherhood to yourself until you have a child."_

_Trelawney sighed. "I only wish to warn you of the dangers of favoring one." And then a strange trance came over the woman. "One will not live to see twenty-one. As sure as the dark lord will fall tonight, one will not live to see twenty one."_

_Molly ran away from this frightening woman, not even wanting to yell at George, who flat out threw the rest of his ice-cream cone at that Trelawney creature._

_Later that night when all her boys were in bed, Molly sat up, knitting because she was unable to sleep. She couldn't stop thinking about what that crazy bat had said about her boys. She alternated between thinking that she certainly didn't favor one over the other, and the more sobering thought that there wasn't anything wrong with her George and it was ridiculous to think that he was marked for death._

_Besides, didn't that great fraud say You-Know-Who was falling tonight? As if THAT would happen. Well, she'd know soon enough how accurate her predictions are!_

_The next morning, Molly Weasley woke up to find that the Potters had been killed, and that Voldemort had somehow been vanquished by a one year old baby. The rest of the wizarding world celebrated; Molly stayed in her bed all day and wept._

Molly was crying now, in George's kitchen. George grasped her hand tightly. "Oh, Mum…I can't imagine what you must have felt at that moment."

She squeezed his hand back. "My Dear…you don't understand…trying not to love you was the hardest thing I'd ever done."

She got up and walked to the window, hugging herself slightly. "You were just a child…how were you supposed to understand? That the mother who used to pick you up so readily now walked away from your outstretched arms? That the mother who you could make laugh with the slightest silly face now snapped at you for the same thing? I could hardly explain that I was trying to save you by not loving you more than your brother. Not when you looked at me with wide, hurt eyes when I would consciously blame you for something you had done with your brother, or even something he did on his own."

Her shoulder's shook as she leaned forward. "So much time I spent pretending to be angry at you, blaming you for things I knew weren't your fault. Pretending that I didn't favor you, not at all. And what happened? I killed your brother instead, George!"

"MUM!" George rose quickly, and came to her side.

"I did! I did! As sure as I tried not to kill you. I went so overboard in loving you less that I never realized I was loving Fred MORE. I signed his death sentence, George! And I can't forget that…these past ten years when I looked at you, I knew I'd taken your twin from you…and me, not able to figure out how to undo the distrust I'd beaten into you every day since you were three years old!" She tapped her forehead against the window pane, crying openly.

George enveloped her into a deep hug from behind, resting his chin on her head. "Oh, Mum." His voice was soft. "Don't…please don't." She turned and hugged him, burying her head against his chest. He continued. "First off, unless you've been obliviating me on a regular basis, I don't you recall ever BEATING me. Occasionally you'd go on one of those ear-slapping frenzies, but you did that to all of us, usually for cause." Molly snuffled slightly. "I know you mean figuratively. And I'm not going to lie to you and pretend I didn't notice, or that it didn't hurt sometimes." He rubbed her back. "But you hurt yourself worse, Mum. Because I know you enough to understand that."

George stood there for a bit, holding her, thinking things over, before he led Molly to the couch and sat her down. "Mum, look at me." He grasped her hands. "Are you telling me that you still blame yourself for Fred's death?"

Molly wiped her eyes. "How can I not, dear?"

"I'll tell you how not. Mum, do you love me?" George asked, intently.

"Of course, dear…I have always loved you." She said, hugging herself.

"And you loved Fred?" Molly nodded, looking curiously at George.

"And you love Ginny…we all saw how you fought Bellatrix…and you love Bill, because we saw how you wept over his injuries. And Charlie…every time he goes back to Romania to be with the dragons, your love is all over your anxiety for his welfare. And Ron, when he was off with Harry…and Percy, when he was absent from the family. You love all of us, Mum."

Molly just blinked at him. And he sighed.

"You loved all of us just the same, mum. None more or less. Not even me…though you can talk now about how my smile was like Uncle Gideon's…I bet if you thought it over you could come up with half a dozen cute, heart-turning stories about Percy or Ron, too." George pushed the hair to the side of his mother's face. "You ACTED differently on the outside…pretending not to love me as much…the same way when Percy was gone you ACTED like it didn't matter. But that didn't change what was in your heart, Mum."

Molly quavered slightly. "But…but Fred's dead…and she predicted it!"

George set his shoulders back. "Okay, so Trelawney got two predictions right out of a thousand…three, if you count what happened with Harry once back at school. But you said that she was spouting off a lot of nonsense about loving one child more or less than another, AND THEN SHE WENT INTO A TRANCE. She predicted that one of us wouldn't live to see 21…and she was right…but she never said that one of us would die BECAUSE you favored us. Wrong on all accounts."

"Ohhhhh…." Molly sank back into the sofa. "How can you ever forgive me, George?"

"Easily. You're my mother." He said, hugging her once more. "And knowing that you love me, it's enough."


	12. Chapter 12

"So…why now, Mum?" George asked, seeing that Molly had calmed down. Together they had walked to the kitchen and were quietly doing the dishes together.

Molly sighed. "Last night, George, when you were all set to storm out of here, you said something… said I had been right about you being a failure all along." She shook her head. "I might not have beaten you, George, but sometimes the worst scars are the ones you can't see."

He understood. For years it had lingered in the back of his mind that there must be something wrong with him, for his mother to not treat him with the same love she showered on his siblings. Even when he would dismiss it, laugh it off, it remained, like a faint musty smell left behind after a flood. You might become used to it, but it was always there.

Once Fred had died and it had become very nearly open hostility between the two, there had been no buffer that let him dismiss her behavior. Now, of course, he understood…she hadn't been angry at him, but at herself, and at the failure he reminded her of. And he couldn't dismiss her reasons for what she'd done, though they seemed almost comical now. But if it were Alf…if Voldemort were to return, and tell him that disowning Alf would be the only way to spare Alf's life, then he'd do it, even if it would break Alf's heart. Part of having a child.

Fred's child. His. Whatever. It was, truly, the same thing to him now.

Looking towards Molly, he sensed she was still melancholy, beating herself up over the past. No use, that.

Slyly, he maneuvered his wand, and the water from the sink rose in a quick spray, right for her face.

"GEORGE!" She gasped, standing back and waving her towel to stop the spray. He let it stop, looking at her with a quirky grin, and she charged him, laughing, slapping at him with the towel at first. He laughed back and ducked, only to be totally surprised when she sent the coffee grounds in an arrow, down the front of his shirt and having them literally tickling him over his chest.

"AGH" He cried, giggling, tossing his shirt off and re –aiming them towards the garbage, only to have Molly now shoot a jet of water from her wand to spray him off. Very, very, cold water. "MUM!" He choked out, wiping himself down. With a start he sent a puff of flour at her head, which she quickly directed right back at him…so he was pasted with flour, coffee and water.

And so it went, as every available item that could conceivably be flung without causing pain arced across the apartment. A set of teaspoons chased George through the living room. A box of nosebleed nougats did a conga line around Molly as she tried to get away. Until both of them, hoarse and out of breath from laughter, collapsed on the sofa, calling "Truce!" at the same time.

Except as they both sat, huffing and puffing and grinning like fools, neither of them expected the burst of a water balloon over their heads.

"WHA?" They turned together to see Alfred, slightly pale but smirking, standing triumphantly with his arms crossed. When they just stared at him his expression froze for a second, and his smile began to dim as if he realized that what he'd done might not have been welcome.

But George's grin filled his face. "OH NO YOU DIDN'T!" He lunged for the boy, scooping him up in a fit of giggles, swinging him around to Molly, who began to tickle him senseless, before the chase was on, again, though some compromises being made for Alf's lack of magic.

The laughter was deafening and glorious in George's mind. Laughter like he hadn't full known since Fred left him. Laughter like he hadn't shared with Molly since he was, apparently, three years old. And if the flat became a right mess, well, who cared? Some things were worth messes.

Nobody heard the pop from the fireplace until there was a bellowed, "EXPELLIARMUS!". George and Molly's wands flew away, and the three pranksters turned around.

Arthur stood there, speechless. Molly gaped, straightened her hair out, and tried to look more dignified. George felt much as he'd done when his father had found him and Fred just after that Dung Bomb went off under Fudge's car. Alfred, on the other hand, just grinned and ran up to him. "Grandpa!" He hugged. "Uncle George and Nana are having a food-fight! Isn't it BRILLIANT?"

Arthur did the only logical thing. He gave in and howled, laughing, slapping at his thighs. He leaned over to the table, using it for support, and began wiping tears from his eyes, he was so overcome. Alf patted his arm in sympathy, and finally he started speaking. "I…you…both…" Again, laughter choked him. "Sorry…thought you were killing each other!"

"With coffee grounds?" George said, trying to sound indignant. "Really, Dad, I would hope I could do somewhat better!"

"Honestly, Arthur." Molly said at the same time. "Can't a woman have a little fun with her son and grandchild without it causing a catastrophe?"

It was still some time before Arthur recovered, which was just as well. Molly settled Alfred down with a cinnamon roll after making sure his arm was okay, and then she and George began to clean up their mess, with George singing mangled versions of Celestina Warbeck in a clear, handsome tenor.

It was, it turned out, a very good day indeed.

WWWWWW

_Three Week's Later…._

George joined the entire family at the Burrow to celebrate Percy's birthday. He was tired…the enormous fireworks order from France had been consuming him, and at times Alf. But he was glad to be here tonight; Alf had spent the past couple of days with Teddy and he missed him badly. He watched him now from the porch, smiling; Alfred was showing no signs of any damage to his arm, as he and Teddy wrestled in the back yard. Alf was teaching Teddy the muggle game Rugby; James and Ricky were trying to play along. The entire scene filled him with satisfaction.

Percy came up beside him, handing him cold pint of ale. "Better keep yourself fortified." He said, with a wry smile. "He's going to be quite a handful…and you, George, have been working too damned hard."

George took the drink gladly. "I wouldn't have Alf any other way, Perce; and I am fully intending to enjoy my break from gunpowder and pixie pigment." He tipped the pint towards Percy, in salute. "And Happy Birthday, big brother."

Percy looked at him carefully. "I am…glad…that everything has worked out." He coughed. "Wasn't sure how the family would get through this summer."

"We're Weasleys. We always manage." George put his drink down and reached over for a small bag that was off to the side. "Here, Perce. For you."

Percy was puzzled. "You already gave me a gift." And indeed, George had bought him a very expensive goblin-weave dress shirt, guaranteed to keep the wearer at the perfect comfortable temperature regardless of the weather. Percy had beamed, and said he'd wear it to work the first thing Monday.

"Ah, well…this is just a little something extra." He admitted. "Something I'd been meaning to do for a while…it's been a devil hiding it from you at the shop, but fortunately Alf can keep a secret."

Percy opened the bag up to discover a brand new, bright green Wo-Wo. The thought of buying Percy toys or tricks would have been totally foreign to anyone else in the family, but George wasn't anybody and this wasn't just any toy. Indeed, Percy's eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. "George…you…you couldn't possibly remember!"

He smiled at Percy. "I do."

_George was three years old, corralled in his playpen with Fred, where they were trying to spin their blocks on edge instead of taking a nap. Five year old Percy burst into the room suddenly, face red and fused with anger and tears. He clutched a round, green toy in his hand defiantly. _

_Fred looked at him curiously. "What Percy have?" He asked._

_Percy turned to the twins, jumping, as if he didn't realize they were there. Wiping at his face, he showed the younger boys his prize. "It's called a YO-YO." He said importantly. "Look!"_

_Flicking his wrist suddenly he made the plastic globe circle down the string, and then just before hitting bottom it flew back up to his hand._

"_Oooh!" Fred said, clapping with approval. George watched eagerly. "Do Again, Percy!" He begged._

_Percy, who rarely commanded attention from the twins like that and who had the distinction of being the only clumsy Weasley child, beamed proudly. "LOOK, BOYS!"_

_For the next several minutes Percy entertained the twins with a whole assortment of tricks, much to their delight. Fred laughed gleefully and George leaned forward, wide eyed with amazement. Percy was so wrapped up with entertaining his little brothers with this new-found skill that he quite forgot why he had run into their room to begin with._

"_Percy!" Bill strode in, arms crossed in anger. Now, any older brother could be a real prat to his younger siblings, and though Bill was better than most, he had his moments, and even Fred and George could tell this was one of them. They both stood, silently watching, side by side grasping the side of the railing, as Percy stood still, his YO-YO clutched behind his back. "GIVE IT HERE" Bill commanded, with the authority of a ten-year old._

"_No!" Percy backed up, "Mine, Bill!"_

"_It's not yours, Percy, it's Dad's, and it's __**muggle**__." He said, spitting out the last word. "Dad needs to show it at work tomorrow. You can't have it!"_

_Percy's eyes glinted. "You're just mad because I can make it work and you can't!" He said._

_Percy must have gotten rather close to the point, because Bill got so angry he didn't think right. Pushing Percy over, he forcefully grabbed the toy from his younger brother, AND proceeded to smack Percy hard on the butt. _

"_OW!" Percy yelped, pulling away and face flushing with tears._

"_TELLING!" Fred cried out. Both he and George knew that cardinal rule number one in the Weasley household was that brothers didn't __**hit**__ each other. Hitting your brother would get you in a huge world of trouble with Mum and Dad._

_Bill knew, too. And it would be even worse, because he was the big brother. Him hitting Percy was much worse than Fred smacking George. He looked downright scared for a few seconds, then he smiled smugly._

"_Oh, but Percy doesn't want you to tell, Fred." He said, in an irritating voice. "Because how much trouble will Percy be in for going in to Dad's study to take it!"_

_Percy was wide eyed. "Didn't! You did! You threw it aside when you couldn't do it and I found it!"_

_Bill stood in the doorway now grinning. "But who's Mum going to believe, Percy? I found it in your hands. I'm BILL! Besides, I'll tell her George really hit you, not me."_

_George glared at Bill. "In __**playpen**__!" He said, indignantly. "No hit Percy!"_

_Bill scoffed. " We all know you can get out of the playpen whenever you want." He sneered once more at Percy. "Sides, you shouldn't be playing with this anyways. It's MUGGLE." He stressed again. "You're supposed to be a WIZARD, Percy. But I guess you're such a bad wizard you can only play muggle games!"_

_And with that parting shot, Bill sauntered out._

_Fred threw a block at the door behind him. "BAD BILL! BAD, BAD!" _

_Percy sat down on the floor and started to cry. George, with every caution, climbed over the playpen. (Bill had been correct about their prowess) and gave Percy a hug. "Bill's __**bad**__, Percy." He said, "I liked your toy."_

_Percy had hugged him tight. "M-m-m-me too." He sniffed. "Guess I'm a muggle."_

"_No muggle!" George said. "You Percy!"_

Tentatively, Percy slid the end loop over his finger, where it adjusted magically to the size of his finger. With a hopeful expression, he flicked his wrist…and just like that old muggle toy, it spun effortlessly down the string at Percy's command. _Unlike _the muggle version, it spit off mini-fireworks and sparkles in a cascade of blue and yellow, while playing the 1812 Overture. Percy's normally serious face split into an unbelievable grin of delight. "BRILLIANT, George!"

George gave an obviously fake modest shrug. "Music was Alfred's idea, actually…knew it was missing something. The wilder the tricks, the more spectacular the light-show."

Percy actually laughed, and became that five year old again, working the toy faster and faster. George beamed at him as the Overture became louder and the fireworks began to attract a crowd. In fact, within minutes every niece and nephew were gathered around their Uncle Percy, and little Perri was mesmerized. "More, Daddy!"

Alfred came up beside George, looking on with admiration. "Way to go Uncle Percy! You should come down to the store and demonstrate for the customers!"

Percy responded by doing a trick that made the Wo-Wo shoot right up in the air, around his head and under his leg. Everyone applauded.

At that moment a bemused Bill came out of the house. "Who brought the band?" He asked. Then he spotted Percy and came up short; his face flushed as his own memory traveled to their childhood. Sheepishly he loosened his collar with one finger, and cast a quick glance over at George. George met his eyes innocently.

"Care to have a go, Bill?" Percy challenged, eyes still twinkling in delight.

Bill laughed in embarrassment. "I think you know if I did it would hardly be…er…**my finest hour**."

George chuckled. "What, Perfect Bill can't handle a little muggle toy?" He teased.

"THIS!" Percy said, with the commanding voice of a carnival barker, "…is no MUGGLE TOY! This is an instrument of daring, skill and dexterity forged by the finest wizard novelty maker in all of Britain! Whooop!" He spun around, making the toy ark over his head, sending a shower of sparks into the night, before finishing with a flourish and a bow.

With cheers and laughter, the crowd dissipated, heading for food as Molly called them over to the table. George was still pink faced from the compliment, as Percy wound the string around the now innocent looking item, and gently placed it back in the bag. His face and eyes still sparkled with excitement. "Really, really brilliant, George…have I mentioned that?"

"You have." George said, dryly. "I am thinking I should have you doing testimonial commercials." He clapped his big brother on the shoulder. Percy's face clouded slightly, and he flushed, looking away. It was a few moments before he could speak.

"I always thought…" And his voice trailed off.

"What?" George asked. And then he knew. "That I'd wished it was you and not Fred?" He shook his head. "Perce, we'd just got you back. I didn't want it to be anybody. But if I'd had a choice, it would have been my life I'd offered up."

"That's it, isn't it?" Percy said, meeting his eye. "Any one of us would have laid down our lives for the other."

"We would have." George sighed. "I was angry for a long time that it had to be him. But it's not like we're given choices about these things."

Percy was looking over at Alfred now, who was wolfing down a rather sizable hamburger. "What are you going to do, George? About Alfred's magic, I mean."

"Dunno." George admitted. "Next year, of course, I figured I'd talk with Hermione about a good muggle school…not the place where Harry's cousin went, of course. He's bright, could have a brilliant education. For this year, though, not sure I see him at the local day school…not surrounded by kids who can do magic, even if they're not allowed. I'd be hard on him, I think."

"Very." Percy admitted. "There are probably muggle boarding schools for the younger years?" He asked.

George stiffened up, and then sagged. "I can't bear the thought of sending him away like that, Percy. Oh, I know it wouldn't really be sending him away, but…hell, I just FOUND him. Suppose I'm selfish."

Percy shook his head. "No, George. I saw him the other night. He needs you. He's spent 10 years without a proper Dad. Now he has you. I don't think he's ready to be away from you yet, either."

He felt better with Percy's affirmation. Not that it left him with any more ideas, just more questions. But at least he felt less crazy for his gut instinct.

He was surprised to see his father approach him, a peculiar look on his face. "George, you're wanted, Son." He took a deep breath. "Draco Malfoy is here to see you."

WWWWWWW

Of all the expected visitors one might find at the Burrow, if George had been forced to name a "least likely, it would have been Draco. And given everyone's past history it was perhaps not surprising that not just George, but Ron, Harry and Arthur came into the room together.

"Draco." George said, civilly. It was three weeks since Alfred had saved Scorpius, when he had seen an entirely different side of the younger man. But he had no clue which Draco Malfoy would be showing up today.

"George." He turned and looked round the room. "I would ask to speak to you privately, but I wouldn't expect you to trust me. Besides, I expect your family puts less stock-in-trade in secrets than mine does."

"Quite likely." Arthur said, acerbically. His feud with Draco's father was old and long.

"Well," Draco began. "What I have to say regards Alfred, and while it's not necessarily private, it's probably something your kids shouldn't hear."

George was intrigued. "We'll cast _silencio_..." But before he could, Draco held up his hand.

"You might want to get Granger…er…Hermione…as well." He blushed faintly. "As I remember she was a fair hand at potions."

Ron looked to George, who nodded, and then he went out to get his wife.

"I must say I am curious, young Malfoy." Arthur spoke. "As to what you could possibly have to discuss with our family."

Draco looked at Arthur, his face a cold mask betraying neither hostility nor friendship. "I know that the old blood wizarding rules are out of fashion. And frankly most of them should be. But it isn't all bullshit." He set his shoulders. "I owe Alfred a blood debt. And I am ready to pay."

Hermione, Ginny with her, entered to join the conclave. Hermione's face was just as inscrutable as Malfoy's…Ginny's was openly hostile. George cast the silencing spell, and the six Weasley's faced Draco Malfoy. He looked across the group and settled with George, who was the only person who looked open to hearing him. "I can't blame you for your reaction, I suppose. YOU…" He looked at Ron and Harry. "Saved my life twice during the battle of Hogwarts. I never did thank you for that, though I will say at the moment I didn't see much point in living." But it was George whose face he returned to. "I'm going to be blunt, now, but I am begging you to hear my story out. It's going about the wizarding community that Alfred is a squib. Is that true?"


	13. Chapter 13

George felt a knot tightening in his stomach…was it that "out" then? Likewise, his family became stony faced and angry. But he looked into Draco's eyes and saw something…saw the understanding of a father concerned for a child. So he ventured to respond as best he could: "We think so. He can tolerate some magical cures, which is odd, but hasn't been capable of any sort of rudimentary magic, accidental or otherwise."

"Right." Draco said. "Well, you know what my family is and who they associate with. I imagine you wouldn't be surprised to know what Katie Bell's family was like."

George nodded. "Purebloods, and purists, although not directly associated with Voldemort."

"Right." Draco crossed his arms in front of his robes. "Are any of you aware of the pureblood maxim of Magie Decomande?"

Arthur raised his head. "It means the destruction of magic for the good of the family. It usually translated to…" He frowned, looking ill. "The infanticide of a magical child believed to be a potential blot on the family standing. Born handicapped in one way or another."

George felt his stomach drop. "Barbaric." He whispered. Ron looked ill, and Hermione covered her mouth.

Draco nodded. "Right. Original interpretation. But, as you no doubt _wouldn't _ know, because you're not like that, the darker pure bloods have taken it to new heights, or lows, more accurately." He shuddered. "There is a potion…developed by Professor Snape's great grandfather Attilla Prince. It's called C_onflagration d'Ame_. Total annihilation of one's magical soul. It's got seven hundred and forty two ingredients, and must be aged for three months. A lot of the darkest pure blood families have a small vile on hand."

Ron spoke slowly. "But that's senseless, Malfoy. I know the worst purebloods wouldn't hesitate to kill a squib child…but why would you destroy the magic of a child born with perfect skills?"

Blonde eyebrows raised gracefully. "Well, let's look in my own family. It wouldn't have been my mother's style to act in that way, but Aunt Bellatrix was scandalized and humiliated when her sister Andromeda married Ted Tonks. Now she has to watch Andromeda give birth to a perfectly magical child, one with rare skills no less. If you're Bellatrix, and you want to keep the line pure, and you don't want to admit that a pureblood and muggleborn union can create a highly magical child, what do you do? Do you think that if Bellatrix hadn't been rotting in Azkaban when Nymphadora was born, she wouldn't have moved heaven and earth to destroy her magic?"

Ron continued. "But why not just kill the kid?"

It was Hermione who spoke. "Because…" She said, watching Draco. "A squib child as a result of a Pure Blood-Muggle Born union reinforces the concept of superiority of bloodline."

"Exactly." Draco said, managing a tight smile at Hermione. "The potion needs to be administered early on, of course, preferably in the first month, so that no accidental magic is ever sighted."

George paced. "Oh, God…oh my God." He ran his hands through his hair. "Katie's family always HATED Fred. Never bothered her much…she didn't care for her family either."

"Right. I mean, your family is as pureblood as mine on paper, but, well, from the Bell point of view blood traitor wouldn't have seemed much better than muggle. Worse, maybe." Draco nodded at George, pleased to see he was getting it.

Ginny spoke thoughtfully. "And how would you explain the fact that he has somewhat tolerated Wizard Cures?"

Draco answered promptly. "That gives me reason to believe that the potion was administered when he was older."

There was a general quiet in the room, and then Harry, for the first time, spoke. "George, I know it's not my place, but from personal experience, Alfred really ought to be here now."

George came up short and looked at Harry. There was the deep memory of pain in his brother-in-law's eyes, and images of days at Grimmauld Place, with Harry frustrated that decisions about his life and future were being held without him a part of it, flooded his mind. Slowly, George nodded.

"I'll get him." Ginny volunteered.

Arthur, meanwhile, accio'd a decanter of fire whiskey, and held a glass out to Draco. Their eyes met, and Draco nodded slowly, accepting the offer of refreshment from a man he would not have shaken hands with, once, let alone set foot in his house.

Ginny returned with Alf, who was looking breathless and wiping at his mouth with a napkin. "Oh. Hello, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco gave Alf a tight smile. "Hello, young man."

A few seconds of silence ensued, before George spoke. "Alfred, Mr. Malfoy came by because he'd heard that you might not have magical ability." Alf flushed briefly, but George continued. "He thinks he might know why."

Draco set his shoulders, and then to everyone's shock he came over to Alf, got down on one knee in front of him, and explained again the theory behind his situation. "I believe somebody might have given you a potion...one used by dark wizards...to harm your magic, Alfred. Why they'd do so is probably not important to you...but I'd like to see if I can confirm that they DID before we go forward." Draco hesitated towards the end. "I believe that it might have not been administered to you as young as is optimal, hence your ability to tolerate wizard potions that might kill a squib. Tell me, do you remember any relatives of your Mother?"

All eyes were on Alf, who spoke slowly. "One of my earliest memories…when I was very small, maybe two, is when my half sister Liv was born. Mum had been frantic, my step-dad was away when she was having the baby." His brow unwrinkled. "She called into the fireplace…I know why now…and suddenly this older woman was there. Mum had her watch me." He looked around. "She made me a milkshake, tasted like honey."

Draco's eyes lit up briefly as he nodded in confirmation. "That's the stuff."

Alfred continued. "I was sick for days afterwards, had a high fever. Felt like everything was burning up inside me…fading away." He nodded slowly. "So I was born magical, and then I lost it?" He paused, frowning. "Is there any, well, antidote to this potion?"

Draco looked up at George, and then to Hermione. "There isn't one now, Alfred. Because as you can imagine the sorts of people who dreamed this up never dreamed of wanting to reverse its effects. But the potion master who taught me…who taught all of us, always told us that any potion must have a counter." Draco stood up and looked around. "And I am swearing to you all, because I am in Alfred's debt, that I will not stop until I have found it."

Dead silence filled the room. George came to a stop and stared at Draco, wondering what in the hell had happened to him since they had been children together. Alfred came over to George, and George immediately put his hand on his shoulder.

"You'd do this, Draco?" The use of the man's first name did not come easily to his lips.

"I feel compelled to." Draco nodded. "I owe Alfred a blood debt, as I said...and what's more I owe several people in this room more than I have ever properly acknowledged." He set his shoulders. "I have a son now, and I don't want him to grow up with the baggage I had. Scorpius will be free to be his own man, and the only way I can do that is if I can find some way to remove the stigma that blots the Malfoy name."

George nodded. He understood it. It wasn't an entirely altruistic offer, but then he trusted it all the more for that. Draco Malfoy had been a Slytherin, after all, not a Hufflepuff. If he'd clamed his motives to be purely on Alf's behalf he'd never have believed him.

Draco was continuing, looking over at Ron and Hermione standing together. "Hermione..." Draco hesitated over the name...it was clearly the first time he'd ever not called her Granger to her face. "You were better at potions than I was. I have secured several vials of this evil brew...and it will take me months just to work out the counters to all these ingredients. The work will go faster if I have help."

George saw Ron bristle for a moment. He knew his brother had a jealous streak a mile deep...rather odd, since anyone with a brain could see that Hermione had never seriously considered anyone else but him as a life partner. But maybe that came from being the sixth and last son in the family, the overwhelming fear that he wasn't good enough. So he stepped forward.

"Hermione...Ron..." He looked between them. "If there's any chance at getting Alfred's magic back...at getting _Fred's son's_ magic back..." He emphasized slowly. "I'd move heaven and earth to find it. If you two can help..."

He judged Ron well. "Of course we'll help!" Ron said stoutly. "Not that I was anything but crap at potions, mind, but I can make sure Mi has the time to work on this. Nobody...nobody was ever better at potions than her!" He jutted his chin out proudly.

Hermione smiled at him with soft eyes. "Oh Ron...I'd love to be able to do this...for Fred, and for the family." She put her arms around him tentatively, and George felt relieved at having averted a knock-down drag out fight on the matter. Draco just looked amused.

"Uncle George." Alfred asked, hesitantly, tugging at his sleeve. "What does all this mean?"

George took Alfred on the sofa with him, tuning out the detailed and technical conversation now taking starting to take place between Malfoy and Hermione. He took his nephew's hands in his and squeezed. "I'm not exactly sure, kiddo. I'd like to believe Mr. Malfoy is right and that an injustice was done to you…not because…" He stressed, looking him very seriously in the eye, "there is anything wrong with you now. There isn't. But I…well, I guess I'm selfish, Alf. I'd like to see you get to go to Hogwarts, and teach you to ride a broom, and how to play quidditch. I'd like for you to never feel like an outsider again."

Alfred visibly relaxed, and George realized that this uncertainty had been plaguing him more than he'd let on. "Will they be able to…um…cure me, then? To bring my magic back?" Unspoken George heard the rest of the question: _And what if they don't?_

"If anybody could, it's those two." George nodded over towards Hermione and Draco. "They were both rare hands at potions, especially compared to the rest of us." He reached over and brushed the boy's hair out of his forehead…it flopped into his eyes just like Fred's used to. "Understand this, though. Nothing separates us, got it? If we can't get your magic back than we work around it, you and I. There's nothing the two of us won't be able to get through together."

Alf didn't say anything, he just nodded, then abruptly threw his arms around George's neck. George returned the hug in kind, breathing in the scent of the boy, silently thanking his brother for the gift he hadn't realized he'd given.

Then, with the emotional shift only possible in a ten year old boy, Alf sat back. "Grandpa has a muggle tent he said Teddy and I could camp out in tonight, if you said yes. Pleeasse can we? I always wanted to go camping!"

George laughed and caught Harry's eye; he could see that Harry was also more than agreeable to letting his god-son stay over. "Alright, you and Teddy are a go; off with you, then!" Alf got up to scamper away, and George called out. "Oi, just don't blow anything up!"

"Lord, Weasley…" Malfoy was beside him. "Isn't that rather rum advice coming from you?"

Ron snorted. "I'd actually have expected you to encourage him to blow things up!"

George looked between Malfoy and his younger brother. "And I'd have expected YOU two to hex each other before agreeing on anything!" He smirked.

There was a few seconds of silence. It was Harry who broke it. "I suppose we all had to grow up sometime." He admitted. "Having kids will do that to you."

Tentatively he held his hand out to Draco; pale silver eyes measured him carefully, then he accepted the offered hand.

"I'm not my father, Potter." Draco said, seriously. "And I swear I will prove it to you all."

WWWWWWWWWWWW

Alf snuggled down in the magically warmed sleeping bag in the tiny muggle tent his Grandfather had provided them. Grandpa'd gotten quite a kick out of assembling the thing, and Alf had been only too happy to help. A orb suspended in air in the middle of the tent, providing light (Teddy had permission to use magic to turn it off, or back on if needed later), and Uncle George had wisely spelled their rough dwelling against the lawn gnomes. So it was a bit of a stretch to say they were roughing it.

Still, it was pretty cool…hanging out in the tent with a real mate, able to laugh and talk about anything. Before her death, Mum had been pretty much his only friend; he played goalie on the football team and was well enough liked, but had never been allowed to ask anyone home, or to go out except for practice. His step-father made it clear that Alf was expected to be home, to help out with the younger kids and help around the house and in the restaurant. Then Mum got sick, and he wanted to stay home as much as possible, to care for her. But it had been hard, being alone like that.

Funny, but working with Uncle George in the joke shop was so different. Well, it _was_ a joke shop, and possibly the coolest place he had ever seen in his life. And Uncle George wasn't at all like his step-father, taking him up short if he made a mistake, or wasn't fast enough, or was clumsy at all. He seemed to have unending patience with him, never tiring of explaining the strange (to him) things going on all around. He'd made it clear that he liked having Alf around, not because he needed the forced labor, but because he simply liked his being nearby. He also made it clear that he expected Alf to go off on his own sometimes, explore, be a normal kid with his friends.

Well, _friend_. And the going off on his own thing, or making more friends, was rather difficult with his magical state being what he was. But still, it was good to know that Uncle George didn't want to hold him back at all. Funny, but being surrounded by wizards, magicians, living lawn gnomes, mail-carrying owls, it was still the first time in his life he felt completely normal. Completely loved. And he was scared to death of losing it all.

"Oi!" Teddy flopped into the tent, dropping a bag of goodies between them. "Your Gran wanted to make sure we had enough provisions."

Alf sat up and began delving into the contents, dividing them into two piles, as Teddy zipped up the flap and then scooted into his own sleeping bag. "Gran sure can cook, can't she?" He asked, taking a bite out of a soft, warm ginger cookie.

"Mmm." Teddy agreed. "Better than mine…but don't tell her I said so!"

They giggled and talked about the food and about the party, and the sight of seeing Uncle Percy playing with a muggle toy. Only once they had stuffed themselves and sunk their bursting body down deeper into their sleeping bags did Teddy broach THE subject.

"Everything okay, Alf? Earlier, I mean."

"Oh." Alf shrugged. "I can't tell you everything; but yeah, it's all okay." He rather wished he hadn't been urged to secrecy about what Draco Malfoy, with Aunt Hermione's help, was up to, but he understood that whatever it was might be ugly in the wrong hands.

"It's about your magic then?" Teddy propped his head up on one elbow.

"Lack of, you mean." Alf admitted, folding his hands behind his head and staring up at the orb. "Yeah, they're working on something; it's tricky but Uncle George is hopeful." He glanced over at his friend. "Does it bother you, Teddy? That I'm not a wizard like you?"

"You daft?" Teddy snorted. "Any wizard my own age I've ever met wouldn't get this close to me in case I'd maul them. Think I'm going to turn my back on you because YOU'RE different?" He exhaled in a huff. "Wish you could go to Hogwarts next year, though. It would have been nice to have a friend."

Alf bit his tongue from saying that he might, just might, be able to go after all. "Bet once you get to school it'll be different, Teddy. People will see you playing Quidditch and all that. Once they get to know you, people will see what you're really like." He said, stoutly.

"Yeah." Teddy huffed lightly. "But I like that you didn't need me to prove anything to you first."

There was a few minutes of silence, with only the sounds of crickets and an occasional owl for background. Teddy flicked his borrowed wand and the orb dimmed to not much more than moonlight. Nice effect, that. Alf sighed, breathing the cool air in deeply. How had life gotten so good for him so quickly? And yet. And yet. "Teddy, can I ask you something?"

"You just did." The sleepy sounding boy replied. Alf shot him a withering glare, and he smiled. "Go on, then."

"Your dad…he died a hero, like my dad. You don't remember him, do you?"

"Nah." Teddy shook his head. "I was just a few months old when he died. Have some photos of him and mum holding me, but no real memories."

"I didn't even have photos until I got here." Alf said sadly. "I know lots about him now, thanks to everyone; and everyone says he was such a great guy, but…" He took a deep breath and admitted his guilty secret. "I wish it were Uncle George."

Teddy raised his eyebrows. "You wish Uncle George had died instead of your dad?" He asked, puzzled.

"NO!" Alf gulped. "The other way…I mean…I wish Uncle George were my father, not Fred." He screwed his eyes shut. "Sometimes I pretend he is, inside. Sometimes in my mind I call him Dad." He finally looked at Teddy. "Is that terrible of me?"

He was afraid Teddy might laugh, but the other boy looked seriously grave and understanding. "If it's terrible, mate, then I'm terrible too. Sometimes I wish Uncle Harry were just my Dad, and I could be with him all the time." He frowned. "Then I think how sad it would be for Gran, to be all alone. I'm all she has now. Still, I know what you mean. Having an Uncle or a God-father just isn't quite the same."

Alf swallowed, relieved and at the same time troubled. "A Dad has to love you no matter what, right?" He asked, quietly.

THAT Teddy did scoff at. "Uncle George loves you just like Uncle Harry loves me, Alf. Or didn't you see his face when you had that accident in Diagon Alley?"

Alf blinked once. "Thing is, Ted, I went ten years with no dad at all, just a step father who didn't much care for me. And he kept reminding me that he was just putting up with me, that I was a burden and a drain on the resources he should be spending on HIS OWN kids. Well, what if Uncle George HAS his own kids some day?" He rubbed at his forehead. "If I were his son it wouldn't matter, but I'm just another nephew."

"Whoa." Teddy reached over to him, grasping his shoulder. "You are so much more than that to him, Alf. You didn't know what he was like before you got here, how SAD he was. He'd try to hide it, but everyone knew. You make him happy. He laughs now. He made Percy a TOY. And that has made everyone else happy too."

Teddy waved the wand once more and the orb dimmed into nothingness. Alf curled up on his side and heard Teddy do the same. The other boy spoke just once more.

"I understand about the Dad thing, mate, but I don't think you realize what having you in his life has meant to Uncle George. He'd fight Voldemort all over again for you. Don't worry…he'll never leave."

Alf felt his eyes grow heavy, and he sank down into oblivion, dreaming of Uncle George teaching him how to fly a broom.

WWWWWWWWWWWW

George was leaning on the railing, a butter-bear in his hand, talking in a low voice to Harry. "It's frightening, really. I've never loved anyone in my life like I love him, not even Fred. Is that warped?"

"Welcome to parenthood." Harry snorted, clapping George on the shoulder. "I got rather a head start because of Teddy, but it is the most forceful power in the universe!" He paused. "Remember your Mum taking out Bellatrix Lestrange?"

"Oi!" George grinned into the night. "As angry as I was at that moment, it was nothing to the pure rage she poured out!" He sobered up slightly. "And I understand it now…I would fight Voldemort all over again for him."

Harry made a show of rubbing his scar. "Nope. Still dead. You'll have to find other dragons to slay."

George elbowed him lightly, and kept his glance out towards the tent in the back yard, which still faintly glowed with light. He was pleased to see it begin to fade; the boys had evidently decided sleep was not out of the question. Behind them, a groggy James was being tucked into his pajamas; the boy had fallen asleep in his street clothes after sulking for half an hour because he wasn't to be allowed to camp with the big boys. Now Ginny was getting ready to tuck him into bed, for they had decided to stay overnight with George, and the young boy whimpered. "Want Dad, mum. Want Daddy."

Harry gave a mock groan. "NOW he wants me. An hour ago I was Voldemort himself for not allowing him to stay in the tent too!" With a smirk he went to his son, who threw his arms around his neck, crooked his head on his shoulder, and murmured a sleepy, "Love you, Daddy."

Something tightened frightfully inside George's gut.

"Love you too, big guy." Harry crooned, and he and Ginny moved to walk the boy upstairs.

George stayed in place, staring first at the place Harry and Ginny had just vacated and then at the tent were Alfred was sleeping. _Dad._ The word had struck him hard, hearing James call Harry that. And yet it wasn't like he hadn't heard it before. With eight nieces and nephews, after all, it was a common phrase. What struck him about it NOW?

Well, now there was Alfred.

A funny emptiness took hold of him…a different emptiness than being without his twin for ten years. Alfred shouldn't, in some respects, mean more to him than James or Ricky or Hugo. But he did, and George didn't apologize for it. He loved all of his siblings' kids, delighted in being Uncle George. But he was something more than Uncle George to Alf. They belonged…it was a phrase he'd used on more than one occasion, but nothing seemed to fit better. When they were together, the world made sense again. He no longer felt the agonizing incompleteness that had plagued him for ten years. They were very nearly starting to complete each other's sentences, to understand each other with a glance. And it just seemed woefully inadequate to summarize that relationship as Uncle George and Nephew.

He felt…truly…like Alf's Dad.

But wasn't that a betrayal of Fred? The boy was Fred's son, not his. Fred and Katie's boy, not his and Katie's. Granted, Alf had never known Fred, nor Fred him. And there was no question that had Fred known he was to orphan a son, he'd have wanted George to raise him. But asking Alf to call him Dad was like saying Fred had never existed, wasn't it? Wouldn't that be how his family would see it?

Tired, and inexplicably hurting, he returned to the house, to the room he could once again think of as his, more hopeful about Alf's future than he ever could have imagined, and yet strangely chagrinned about the future as well.

WWWWWWWWWW

Fred Weasley sat in "Kings Cross Station"…the way station, for souls between worlds. Harry had once been there, and returned to his corporeal form. Dumbledore occasionally came there, to greet those he wished to escort on to a train. Often people came to guide those they loved when they passed on. Fred was glad he was not here for that reason.

The thing about this place, he knew, was that though you knew others were waiting, you didn't really see them unless you had a connection. Not unlike the REAL King's Cross, he thought, smiling to himself. For Fred, what he saw when he came to visit was a television of sorts, with his own remote control…one with a series of channels labeled "Molly," "Arthur," "George," "Alfred," etc. Once Katie had been one of those channels, but now they'd been reunited; he had understood, with the infinite understanding one has in death, the choices she made, and been relieved to see his son find his way to his brother. Now he was switching between Alf, sleeping peacefully, smiling in his dreams, and George, tossing fitfully, worried over Alf.

He didn't come often anymore, not now that he knew Alf and George were okay (occasionally stupid about the dumbest things, but basically okay); maybe once in a earth-bound week. He was glad he'd chosen tonight; seeing Percy with that Wo-Wo had been priceless. He'd ached then, like he sometimes did, for his family, for just plain BEING THERE. The beauty and peace of where he was now didn't allow for such sadness, but the room at King's Cross did. The solitude and the quiet led to the sort of introspection usually absent from his afterlife.

So he was rather startled to hear a voice beside him. "Hey, there, Weasley."

Fred turned around to face Cedric Diggory. "Cedric!" He gasped, in surprise. Cedric had been, in many ways, the first casualty of the second war. Not that he'd ever gotten proper recognition of course; the ministry had proceeded to put their head up their ass about his death and pretend it never happened. "Never seen you here before!"

"Aye, been with me Mum, mostly, in there." He motioned backwards. "When I'm there, that is. Usually I'm on the other side."

Fred blinked. He'd never tried to go back; it was frowned upon, and travel between venues on a frequent basis was not encouraged. "You _ghosting, _Ced?" Fred shook his head. As a human being, Cedric had stood for every sort of loyalty and fair play that could have been conceived of in Hufflepuff house. Heck, he'd even tried to forfeit a legitimately won match against Gryffindor when he realized that the Slytherins had tricked Harry into an accident. _Haunting_ someone didn't much seem his style.

Cedric gave him a grin that was both wry and sad. "Hard to believe, I know, for the True Hogwarts Champion." He joked, then sighed. "Truth is, I have special permission. Trying to save someone, actually."

Fred heard Alf turn over, muttering in his sleep, and turned attention back to the screen for a moment. But the boy had already settled back in, though with a slight grimace. "I thought interfering down there was frowned upon?" Fred asked, remembering too well finding out in death that he'd had a son, a son being raised away from HIS family, a son who might make his grieving twin whole again, and being told he had to let things take their own course. As they had, he must admit, quite nicely.

Cedric too looked at Alf, and smiled. "Your boy, eh?" He scratched behind his neck, pausing to gather his thoughts. "You have a son you never knew. I have a brother born after my death. It's him I'm trying to save…not his life, you understand." Cedric's eyes bored in on him. "His soul."

"Blimey!" Fred whispered. "How old is he, Ced? And how is his soul in danger?"

"Same age as your boy. As to his danger, well…" Ced shrugged. 'My dad, unfortunately, has gone off the deep end since Mum died…died giving birth to C.J. in fact. He's angry and resentful at his world, and ours, and everything in between, and he's using C.J. as an instrument for that. I'm trying to stop it." He rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "I'm _desperate_ to stop it, Fred. What my dad is up to…what he's trying to turn C.J. into, it isn't how I'd want the Diggory name remembered."

Fred clapped him on the back. "Now THAT's the Cedric Diggory I know and made fun of back in school."

Cedric laughed at him. "Oh, because the great troublemaking Weasley twins were so totally unfamiliar with fair play and loyalty? Wasn't it the fair play of everyone being equal, and the LOYALTY you placed to Harry Potter, what landed your sorry ass here, Fred?"

Fred gaped a moment, and then laughed. "Bloody hell, Cedric, you might as well just call me a Hufflepuff and be done with it!" He switched the channel to George, and saw his brother muttering in his sleep. _Don't want to take your son, Fred. Not take him away, just take care of him._

"Stupid git." Fred sighed, wishing he could do something.

"What's he on about?" Cedric asked, watching with him.

"He's guardian to Alf—that's my boy—and he's gotten close to him. Loves him like a son. Well, of course he does…I wouldn't expect any less of him. And there's Alf, never had a proper father before, and now he has George. Well, now, Alf wishes George were really his Dad, which makes bloody sense because George is there, and I'm not; and George wishes he could acknowledge Alf as a son, because he's so much closer to him than his other nephews."

"And you're point is?" Cedric looked at Fred.

"Neither of them will do it because they're bloody worried that I'D be upset!" He threw his hands in the air. "Three months ago I had an orphaned son living with a semi-repellent muggle step-father who hated him, and a twin brother who wasn't much better than a living ghost. Now, I have a happy offspring being lovingly cared for by the brother who has totally reconnected with life. _Why_ would I be _upset_?"

Cedric laughed at the folly of it all. "Life…it's wasted on the living, isn't it, Fred? Not knowing when to appreciate the real beauty of it, and ignore the stupid shit."

"Oi." Fred snorted in agreement. He then turned to Cedric, realizing something. "Why do I see you here, Ced? I mean, I respected you as an opponent, but we didn't have much in common beyond that."

Cedric looked him over. "I can't tell you everything. Things that might be. But I'm counting on your brother, Fred. Young C.J. is going to need him, one day. Need him to show the kind of man that I know he is, at heart."

Fred felt a slight chill come over him, an unusual sensation now. "But Fred doesn't even know him, Cedric."

Cedric smirked. "He will…if you believe Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger are as good as they think they are. After all, the boys will be at Hogwarts together." Cedric looked off, as if hearing a page. His face fell into lines of sadness. "Not again…Dad, he's just a CHILD." A single tear ran down Ced's face, and Fred felt misery he'd forgotten existed.

"What is it?" He whispered, afraid to ask, but needing to know.

"Cruciatus." Cedric said, with resignation. "I have to go…he'll need me."

Fred felt sick…what kind of bastard used Cruciatus on a child? On their OWN child, no less? He watched Cedric rise and fade into the mist, and wondered further what kind of comfort a ghost could be to a damaged ten year old?

He turned back to the television set, forcing his mind from Cedric's problem, and looked gratefully down at his twin. No worries about George harming Alfred. He could feel the love they had for each other; it was bound round his own heart. He reached over to the screen, touching George on the head. "George Weasley…if you can hear me…I give you leave to love Alfred as your son. We always shared everything…why not this? Be his father, in my stead; I trust him to you. And he will love you back ten-fold!"

He watched George stir; saw him rise, blinking, into the darkness. He placed a hand on his heart for a moment, and then smiled.

Fred sat back; his work tonight was done.


	14. Chapter 14

_At first he and Uncle George were flying…together on one broom, his Uncle gently encouraging him with whispered words, letting him get the feel of the handle, his larger hands on top of his. Alf could actually feel the man's heart beating against his back, and it made him feel completely safe, even though the moors seemed miles below, sliding past them quickly._

_And then he was at his old home, the place where he had grown up, with his Mum and step-father. He stepped off the broom, now alone, and headed up to the door, only it was locked. He pounded on it, and dug in his pockets, but he didn't have the key. He wasn't welcome here._

_So he went round the back door, and walked in. It was Uncle George's house now…and Uncle George was there, at the table, with twins…bright red-haired five year olds who looked just like him. The man didn't look up, didn't even acknowledge him._

"_Uncle George, I got straight A's on my report card."_

_There was no direct response, but his Uncle continued teaching the young twins before him how to play chess._

"_Uncle George? I can fly a broom now!" He tried._

_Cold, icy eyes slid over him. "You can't do that…you're just a squib." His Uncle frowned. "Why are you here? Am I stuck with you this weekend?"_

"_But…" Alf started, but George was already at the floo._

_Suddenly all of his Uncles were there, even Uncle Charlie, who he'd never even met yet, all arguing about who was going to get stuck with him._

"_I've put up with him for enough…somebody else needs to deal with him. I don't need him now!" George grumbled._

_One after another each one of his Uncles refused to take him in. Finally, Percy, waving a Wo-Wo about, came up with a solution, "What about a foster home? Isn't that what he wanted all along?"_

"_But I don't wanna go away!" Alf begged. "Please…I'll do anything…anything!" He grabbed Uncle George's arm._

_Uncle George threw him to the side, into the floo. "You're useless, Alfred!" And with a toss of floo powder, yelling, "Foster Home!"_

_Alf watched his family spin away from him, as he howled in despair._

Alfred sulked in the stock room of Weasleys'. He'd been cranky all day, ever since he'd woken up from the most vivid, and terrible, dream imaginable. And afraid to tell anyone what he had dreamed about, tired, groggy, and scared, he'd taken it out on everyone he came across.

He'd been snarly at breakfast, earning a rebuke from Molly, and an admonishment from Arthur that he guessed sleeping in a tent wasn't something that was going to be repeated. _That_ only ticked him off more, and he'd refused to eat breakfast, which caused Uncle George no small frustration. Then at the shop he'd skulked around, knocking in to things. Uncle Ron had been forced to banish him in the stockroom, and the last thing he'd heard Ron say to George as he shut the door had been, "What the bleeding hell is that kid's problem today?"

Nothing was helping his mood. He kicked listlessly at a box as he moved canary creams around. _That kid._ Great. Not even Fred's son. Dead Fred's son, he thought, darkly. Dead Fred's son the squib. For some reason all the optimism and hope he'd felt last night had disappeared in the avalanche of dreams. He gave another shove to the boxes he was cataloguing. What good was it to have a dead father? Someone who was nothing more real than a mound of dirt and a headstone. A mound of dirt couldn't talk to him about his mum. It couldn't listen to his fears. It couldn't teach him how to fly…if he'd ever be capable of it. Come to think of it, who knew how Dead Fred would have reacted to having a squib son, anyway? Would he even want him around? Hell, the Weasley family only wanted him around anyway because it made them forget that Fred _was _Dead Fred. Bet by now they all wished he was just dead too, being that he was causing all this work and all.

He snorted hard and gave a determined shove to one last case. Which unfortunately contained a full set box of Weas-works, the new musical fireworks Uncle George had been working on. He realized it as the case teetered, and he gulped, not quite in time to keep it from going over. As if in slow motion, he saw the box spill, and one firework…it was always one…bounced high and into a box of flaming footballs. It ignited, and playing, of all things, the Marseilles, it flew into the stack of boxes near Alf, which contained other fireworks. Within seconds the was a brilliant flash, as boxes and boxes of Weas-works went off in the contained area, with a cacophony of different orchestral arrangements, knocking into boxes of other products…the exploding sparrows bursting feathers everywhere, the Wo-wo's rolling about the floor with their own sets of sparks and music, the fanged Frisbees zooming about his head. Desperately he leapt up, trying vainly to stop the domino-like avalanche from continuing, ignoring the occasional singe he got from the explosives.

He heard George and Ron enter, heard the yells and shouts, and he considered running for it. Shite, if Uncle George had ANY reservations about having a squib ward, this was going to cement them firm.

"Stupefy!" "Scourgify!" The curses zipped past his head, and coughing filled his ears as boxes and smoke settled. He felt his blood freeze and terrified he turned to look at his two Uncles.

Looking at Uncle Ron was bad enough. Sleeves rolled up, face red, death grip on his wand, Alf figured the only thing keeping him from being beaten senseless was Uncle George. But looking at Uncle George had Alf thinking he might be better off submitting to punishment from Uncle Ron. Because Uncle George was absolutely enraged. Face pale and immobile, eyes blazing, Alf saw the remaining days of his life evaporate.

Thirty seconds ticked by. Ron was clearly itching to speak, but was deferring to George, and George looked like he was afraid of what he might say. Finally, terse words were directed at his brother, though his eyes never left Alf. "How much was that inventory worth, do you reckon, Ron?"

"Ten thousand Galleons, at least, George. Maybe more." Ron folded his arms across his chest. "Going to be hard to meet our commitments for the French Ministry's celebrations now."

"Right. First time the French have ever commissioned their fireworks to an English firm, and we're going to fail." George laid strong emphasis on the last word. "Embarrassing the entire British wizarding world."

Guilt overwhelmed Alf and he looked down at the floor, swallowing hard, jaw clenched. He couldn't even get out the word "sorry" because he was afraid if he started speaking he'd end up bawling like a two year old. His shoulders shook slightly as he heard Uncle George speak, so calmly it scared him. "Ron, leave us, please."

"Right." Without looking up, he heard his other Uncle turn around and walk away, the door shutting behind him and seeming to suck the air out of the room.

"Alfred." He heard Uncle George step towards him and he remained rooted to the spot, though every bone in his body screamed run. But he couldn't look up. Still eerily calm, George spoke again. "Are you hurt?"

"No, Sir." He whispered, although he suspected that status was about to change.

A hand came to his face, then, though not to strike him. It went to his chin, and firmly but without violence forced him to look up. Uncle George's face wasn't calmer, exactly; but his eyes weren't lasers of rage any longer, either. "How did this happen?" His Uncle asked him, firmly. "Did you do this on purpose?"

"N-no." Alf stuttered out. "I didn't mean to…" He came to a stop hoping that was enough, but Uncle George would not let him look away and was clearly waiting for more. He blinked once and managed to get the rest out. "I was angry…and…and I don't know why…I kicked the box…I didn't mean to kick it over but I did…and just…just one firework landed in with the footballs and…and…" He screwed his eyes shut tight, unable to look at his Uncle anymore.

The man exhaled, a long drawn out sound. The hand dropped from his chin to his shoulder. "Come."

To his surprise George guided him to a box and sat him down, then knelt before him, grasping his hands tightly. "Alf, why were you angry?"

He managed to look at his Uncle again, and felt sadness overwhelming him. "I'm sorry." He whispered.

"I know you are. I can see that." George seemed to be growing calmer by the second. "But I need you to tell me why you were angry. Did somebody do something to you? Say something? You've been… off…all day. I had rather thought yesterday was a GOOD day." George almost sounded hurt, and that worked better than all the screaming he could have done to get Alf blathering.

"I…I…" A thousand different things wanted to force their way out of his mouth, about the potion, about how scared he was it wouldn't work, about how if it didn't work, he had no clue what was going to happen to him, where he'd end up, how he'd live. "I WISH YOU WERE MY DAD!" He blurted out suddenly. "I HATE THAT MY FATHER IS DEAD." A sob broke from him. "I HATE THAT I'M NOT ANYTHING MORE TO YOU THAN…JAMES OR ALBUS OR RICKY!" He lost it then, bending over double to hide his face as the guilty secret came out.

"Oh, Alf!" George said with shocking kindness. Arms wrapped around him tightly and pulled him close, and Alfred sobbed without restraint, burying his head into George's maroon robes; George began rubbing his back gently, letting him let go of everything. "Shhh…its okay, Alf. It's going to be okay." He kissed the side of Alf's head. "Not about the fireworks, mind…you have a world of cleaning ahead of you for that one…but everything else will be okay. Shhh, now…Ron will think I'm beating you to death!"

Alf hiccupped, calming himself slowly. He couldn't believe…couldn't believe that Uncle George actually wasn't going to beat him senseless. Or something. _Cleaning?_ He looked up at his guardian finally; George's anger had faded, and there was back the faintest spark of laughter in his blue eyes. He pushed the hair off of Alf's face and it immediately flopped back down, making George smile. "You don't hate me?" Alf asked, stunned.

"You know I don't." George squeezed him. "I mean that literally, Alf…deep inside, under all that insecurity you're carrying around, you KNOW." He paused, seeing Alf's confusion. "Alfred, when that firework show went off, and all hell was breaking lose around you, why didn't you run?"

Alf swallowed hard. "I thought about it."

"Of course you did…you're no fool. You knew you were in deep trouble, and there Ron and I were in a right rage, and you still obscured by smoke and feathers and other debris, and you could have made a break for the back door, but you stood there ready to accept whatever punishment we threw at you. Now why is that?"

Alf shrugged, but seeing George waiting for an answer, he sighed. "I dunno…I just didn't want to run. I'd face anything before I'd leave you." He admitted.

George reached over and touched his chest lightly. "Because inside, deep inside away from your over-worked brain, you trust me. Here, in your heart, you understood that as angry as I would get…and I WAS angry, Alf…I wouldn't stop loving you. And I won't. Now, why is that?" He prompted again.

"We belong." Alf said, suddenly feeling what they had kept telling each other all along.

George squeezed him again, and then spoke softly once more. "Now about this whole Dad thing Alf, well, you should realize that you're NOT just another nephew to me. I can't imagine my life without you in it. I feel like your father, Alfred, every single day. Makes me guilty, sometimes, like I'm usurping Fred's place. But then…" He paused, leaning his chin on Alf's head. "I had a dream last night, and I felt your father with me…felt him telling me to stop feeling so guilty, that we'd always shared everything, how could we not share you?"

Alf took a deep breath. "But I can't call you Dad, can I?" He asked wistfully. "Even if you're okay with it, the rest of the family will be kind of weirded out, won't they."

George loosened his grip slightly, letting them both recline against the box, side by side. "Yeah, kiddo…I've been thinking about that, and I think you're right. We know what we are, but I'm not sure everyone else is ready for that." He squeezed his hand. "But one thing…I'm going to talk to Percy about getting a formal adoption pushed through."

Alf frowned. "What happened before?"

"A court order appointing me guardian, which is not quite the same thing." George admitted, smoothing out his robes. "An adoption would actually make me your father legally, not just a guardian. There's not a whole lot of difference, but it feels more right." George sighed, and rose, extending his hand to Alf. "Now…you…" He motioned around this room. "I need this cleaned up. Put the damaged goods in bins over to the left, and I'll see what I can salvage. You know where the cleaning supplies are." He patted him lightly on the shoulder. "I need to firecall France and explain about withdrawing from the contract."

Guilt overwhelmed Alfred again…he'd almost wished George _had_ hit him. "Can't we make it?" He pleaded. "I'll help…I will! I know I can't do magic, but I can chop and organize and clean and pack. Please, can't we _try_?"

George looked down at him thoughtfully. "It will be a lot of work, Alf…we'll have to go just about full stop for the next three days!"

Alf set his shoulders. "We can do it, I know we can!"

Just slightly George smiled at him. "Then let's get to it! Scramble about and gather anything that didn't go off to see what we can use. I'll go let Ron know you're still alive, and ask him to man the store."

Feeling like he'd passed some almighty test, and feeling Fred almost smiling down at him in approval, George watched Alf scramble madly to get the work done, before he turned to go to Ron, and tell him just how completely he'd lost his mind.

WWWWWWWWW

Three days later, an exhausted George sat back, entirely satisfied as he watched the last box of Weas-Works levitate out of the store-room to a waiting transport, a sort of trucking equivalent of the Night Bus. Alfred was curled up in fetal position on a bean-chair, utterly exhausted and sound asleep. He had, as promised, worked tirelessly, measuring ingredients, packaging product, cleaning, chopping, even manning the store for stretches so Ron could help with the magic end of it. He was proud of the boy, for how forthrightly he'd accepted the responsibilities and the workload.

Stretching, he stood reaching for the ceiling, yawning. He took his own robes off and draped them over the sleeping child tenderly. Just a few more things to straighten up now…

Ron came in, also yawning. "Last lot off. Looks like we're making contract." He rolled his shoulders. "I hate to say it, but I think the final product came off better than the ones Alf blew up."

"Agreed. Always did our best work under pressure, I guess." He poured his brother a fire-whiskey, and they sat by the desk. Ron looked down at Alfred, somewhat bemused, as he accepted the drink.

"You know, I really thought you might lose it with him. Hell, I was afraid I was going to, and I don't own the place." He admitted. Ron met his eye. "I think he expected to catch it, as well."

George sipped thoughtfully at the firewhiskey, enjoying the sensation the burn gave his tired body. "I counted to ten at least three times, Ron. I just couldn't believe he would _do_ something like that." He shuddered. "And I'm glad I didn't lose it, because it _was_ an accident. A careless one, but not like I thought…that in a snit he'd decided to purposely wreck us."

"Mmm." Ron said, not sure he understood. "Still…wouldn't it have been easier just to punish him outright and get it over with?"

George looked at Ron incredulously. "Easier to _hit_ him, you mean? Have you ever struck Rosie? How easy would you find it to do?" He watched as Ron opened and closed his mouth. George continued. "Look, discounting Mom's occasional frenzies and ear pulling, how often did any of us ever get struck, anyway?"

Ron looked rather sheepish. "I…er…I guess I can't ever remember anything worse than getting cuffed upside the head."

"Right." George smirked. "There are exactly two times I ever feared for my physical safety, and not from Mom. And only one time Dad ever actually struck me…which you remember."

"The unbreakable vow." Ron remembered, nodding.

George tipped his glass to him. As far as he was concerned, Dad had been entirely justified. He and Fred…egged on by Charlie…had decided to bind Ron in an Unbreakable Vow. They'd only been seven years old, Ron about 5, but had found the incantation and snuck Bill's wand. The idea was to make Ron a slave for life. Neither of them had really understood that Ron could die from the thing. After all, what was death to a seven year old?

Dad had caught them mid way, and he'd gone a shade of gray George now recognized as parental terror, and had grabbed Fred and positively walloped him, while a horrified George stood on, barely registering that he'd be next. George got lucky, in a way…the initial terror Arthur had felt had been mostly translated to poor Fred; George had maybe gotten five or six solid swats to Fred's fifteen, eventually giving birth to Fred's joke that his left buttock was the only way to tell them apart.

Arthur had spoken to them later, calm then but stern, saying that he was sorry he'd had to do that, but they needed to understand the seriousness of what they'd done. He knew that they would be very sad if Ronnie would go away for ever and ever…and THAT was what would happen if their little plan had worked.

Strangely, they had never given up Charlie's role in the whole thing, although days later when they'd purposely turned Charlie's hair bright green with silver stripes right before his first day at youth Quidditch, Arthur had called off Molly's ear-pulling ire…and had given George a discreet wink.

Made sense in hind-sight, George thought. Arthur was smart enough to know that a pair of seven year olds hadn't been likely to come up with that one on their own.

"What was the other time?" Ron asked, curious.

"Hm?" George stirred from the memory, somewhat groggy from the work and the whiskey. "Oh, right…well, like I said, he never struck us again. But the second time I almost wished he had…Fred and I exploded a dung-bomb under Fudge's brand new, wizard-spaced ministry BMW, round about when we were eleven or so."

Ron whistled. "Wow, mate…that took some cheek." His eyes sparkled "Wish I'd done it with you."

George sighed. "Well, it seemed like a good idea…you remember what Fudge was like, and he kept putting down dad, insulting him, belittling him. But then he came down on MUM, and no way Fred and I were going to let that slide."

"Good on you." Ron nodded in approval.

George shook his head. "Well, the dung bomb was my idea, and we executed it perfectly…Fudge actually had no clue how it happened…he thought the car was defective. But Dad knows his muggle stuff, Ron, and he knew EXACTLY who did it." He shuddered. "After Fudge left, Dad ordered us both into the tool shed, and just glared down at us for a good five minutes, absolutely white with rage. THEN he positively shredded us with guilt. About what exactly would happen to the family if he lost his job. About Ginny being given up for adoption, about having to drop out of school. About how much Mum would cry as we were forced to go into menial jobs just to put food on the table. We were nearly begging him to hit us before he finished." George pursed his lips thoughtfully. "You know, I think that was the last time we ever pranked someone without thinking about the consequences. People never thought we did…but we always made sure we fully understood what the ramifications of any trick we played would be. Even if we then went forward with it."

Ron turned his head to look at him. "Umbridge?"

George grinned. "We thought EVERY BIT OF THAT through, Ronnie my boy. Right down to what Mum would say when we showed up on the doorstep. Dad, surprisingly, supported us fully. We took the step knowing damned well what would happen."

Ron tried one more. "The flying car?"

George actually winked. "Did Dad ever tell you he was the one who suggested it to Fred and I?"

"Blimey!" Ron's mouth fell open. "He acted like he'd had no clue!"

"Well of course, Mum would have killed him. But he knew what was being done to Harry, and knew he wouldn't be able to get away with springing him." George laughed at the look on Ron's face. "And he knew who, exactly, could get away with it with no more than a sentence of lawn de-gnoming!"

Ron was shaking his head, and he filled both of their glasses. "Well, you learned well…that stunt in the shed after the dung bomb sounds pretty much like how you got to Alf."

George was startled for a moment, then he realized Ron was right. "Guilt, the wonder-drug." He admitted. "But it worked better than even I thought it would…after all, if I'd just smacked him, I'd have also just given up the contract. He was the one who suggested…insisted really…that we try to fulfill it."

Ron rose to leave. "Hermione will kill me if I stay here another night." He murmured. "Take care of yourself, George. And your little rug-rat."

_My little rug rat. _George hugged the possessiveness to himself. "Night, ickle Ronniekins." He teased, laughing at the rude gesture it earned him in return, as Ron left to floo. He in turn aimed a wand at Alfred, making him feather light with an incantation, and levitating into his arms to be carried upstairs.

Alfred stirred, and blinked momentarily awake. "All done?" He murmured.

George pressed his lips to the boy's forehead. "All done." He answered. "Well done." He added.

Alf's eyes closed again, with one more comment. "Y'could have just magicked me all the way to bed."

George grasped him close. "I like this better."


	15. Chapter 15

Author's note: This chapter is the finale of "We Belong." There will be a sequel coming shortly (probably 3-5 days) as will be evident once you get to the end of this part…

Thanks again to everyone for their support!

WWWWWWWWWW

There were two very important things George had taken care of with Percy over the days immediately following the shipment of Weas-Works to France. One—the adoption—he had been thinking about for some time. The other was something that grew from a comment of Ron's over the fire-whiskey, something that hadn't quite registered at the time, but which became crystal clear in his dreams. Something long overdue.

He'd been nervous about approaching Percy on both items. But the adoption Percy had approved of heartily, although he cautioned that with any adoption proceedings it would be at least a year long process, unlike the relatively simple decree of guardianship. And they would have to ensure that any family Katie still had left made no claim. Still, it made all of Alfred's legal standing, as an heir and a family member, unimpeachable, something that would be of particular importance if he remained without magic.

George's reasons, of course, were emotional, not practical, but he was more than happy to accomplish both.

The second item…George had held his breath before he broached it to Percy…but he was pleasantly surprised at Percy's wide smile. Evidently he thought it was long overdue as well. Percy had taken care of everything on _that _in short order, bless his little official self. It had been quite amusing, however, to have Percy's staff _thanking _him. Apparently since the Wo-Wo gift, his straight laced brother had become noticeably warmer.

So now, it was a glorious Monday morning; the shop was an hour from opening, and he was beaming with the thought of the news he would have for Ron once he got there.

In a week, Alfred would be starting at the wizard day school, the one for kids too young for Hogwarts, that focused on basic education, not on learning magic. He'd spoken as freely as he could with the principal, and Alf was okay with it, particularly as Teddy would be there. Alf might be a target of some of the other boys, but as Teddy pointed out, nobody was likely to cross a son of Weasleys' Wizards Wheezes, not if it meant expulsion from the world's coolest shop. George had smirked at young Teddy's ingenuity; his shyness seemed to be fading as his friendship with Alfred grew.

"Careful with that." He roused himself from his musings to admonish Alf, who was carrying a box of Wo-Wos.

Alf faked insult. "Geez, you blow up one box of fireworks and you're branded for life!"

George crossed his arms, eyebrows raised. "One box of fireworks?"

"One…ten…who's counting?" Alfred asked, as he _very gently_ placed the box by the display.

They smiled at each other. They had survived the worst, and survived stronger. What could possibly threaten them now?

With a whoosh the floo came to life; Ron, early for once! George put down his coffee and turned with a grin on his lips to give Ron his news.

"GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE, BOTH OF YOU!" Ron bellowed at them.

Alf, startled, darted over to George, who grabbed him. The both turned, puzzled, towards the fireplace. "What…Ron…" George gaped. Ron's robes were askew, his face smeared, and his eyes frantic.

"Just do it, George! Apparate to Bill and Fleur's, they're safe…still not on the floo network, still secret."

George paled. "Ron?"

He could see menacing shadows approaching outside the store, and realized that Harry and Percy, looking equally grim, had also come through the floo.

"GEORGE, JUST GO!"

With fear that he'd forgotten for ten years, he felt Alf suction cup himself to his chest. Gripping the boy tightly, he concentrated all his thoughts on Shell Cottage: Bill's house, the one still kept by a secret keeper because of his confidential work with Gringots.

WWWWWWWW

Five hours later, Fleur was tending to both her frantic, and still clueless, house guests.

For about the eighth time, George asked her, "Are you sure you don't know what was happening?"

"George…" Fleur sighed, looking up from her soup. "I wish I did. I know that Ron had news from Draco, and that he needed Bill for…what he called…back up. And that Ron said I should see you and Alf, and keep you 'ere."

"Swell!" George ran his hands through his hair, tugging at it. Obviously there was some kind of attack going on…death eaters? Zombies? And for some reason, they were attacking the shop. So fine, GET Alf to safety…but why the hell couldn't George fight?

Fear gripped him then…what if he lost another brother? He couldn't bear it, couldn't, not at all! "BOLLOCKS!" He yelled, startling Victoire and making Ricky cringe. Fleur gave him a withering look, and he charged outside, to the protected grounds, and stared listlessly to the horizon.

A hand grasped his. Alfred had joined him outside. The boy leaned into him and George draped his arm around his shoulder.

"She said Draco was involved…you don't think he's gone bad?" Alf whispered.

George squeezed him. "I won't believe that, kiddo…he was very serious about that vow."

They were standing there for nearly half an hour before Harry, Ron, Percy, Bill, and Arthur appeared, ruffled but unscathed, causing George relief he could not express, except in the most forceful way.

"WILL SOMEBODY TELL ME WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON?"

It was Arthur who spoke. "Son…you and Alfred are in danger…grave danger, I fear." He looked down at Alf, and then to Ron, who immediately chimed in.

"Draco flooed us, frantic. His old man got wind of Alf's situation, and told the Bells. They can't believe that Alfred's been parading about…their words, not mine, mate…as a relative of theirs, and as a squib."

"They're the reason I am one!" Alf exclaimed, hotly. George squeezed his shoulders.

"Right, well, in any event, Draco found out that they…bunch of former death eaters, I suppose…were planning on attacking Alf at the store. Attacking to kill." Ron finished, lamely.

George felt Alfred's knees buckle, and he hugged him close. "WHY?" He lamented. "And why not let me stay and fight?"

It was Harry who spoke as well. "There's a contract out on both of you. Alfred, for being a squib, and you, for willingly harboring him. Besides, they know pretty well what your vengeance would be if they succeeded."

George trembled with rage and exasperation and fear, and Arthur came to him, holding him even as he held Alf.

"We'll get to the bottom of this, Georgie." Arthur said, whispering into his good ear. "We kept the store secure and the Aurors are on to them, but until we ride the full plot to earth, and until Alf gets his magic back, we need to keep you both safe."

George let himself lean into this father for a moment, inhaling deeply to calm himself, accepting the support. Then he set his shoulders and nodded. "Alright, then…what's next? Alf and I stay here? Or isn't it so easy?"

Percy gave him a twisted smile. "Of course it isn't that easy, George…when in the hell has it ever been?'

George bit back a choked laugh. "Right…let's go inside and fill it all in." He looked down at Alfred, who was pale but composed now, studying George and taking his cues from him. "We'll be fine, eh, Alf? With this whole army of Weasleys to protect us?" He gave him a falsely confident smile, and Alf matched it; they both knew this was grave, and they both knew they'd be damned if they'd show it.

WWWWWWWWW

Two hours later, George sat at Bill's table, Alf close at his side. Bill had suggested that Alf be sent to bed with the kids, but George (with Harry's immediate backup) had refused, knowing that the kid deserved to know what was going on; also that whatever Alf would imagine would possibly be even worse than the reality.

Not that reality needed help; this was bad enough.

He had understood that reality to be this: the store was fine, and not too badly damaged. Charlie had come in from Romania to help them earlier and had stayed behind to clean up and guard. Ginny had wanted like hell to join the fight, but with Hermione setting up the escape plan with her ministry connections, Ginny had been watching the kids. Their situation was strange…they knew what was happening, but couldn't prove it without blowing Draco's cover in finding a cure for Alf…and it was important, should Draco need to call in darker connections, that he remain behind the scenes. Harry was confident that he and Hermione could run the culprits to earth within a month or two. And if that would fully solve the problem, it might be feasible to keep George and Alf cooped up at Shell cottage, although even that short a time made both of them cringe at the confinement.

But Bill had his own caution to add: Shell Cottage was _safe_, for now, but he feared that if George and Alf remained in England they might make targets of the entire family in an effort to draw them out. It seemed, more than anything else, they wanted the embarrassment of Alf out of sight; should that happen, it seemed pretty clear from what they had learned that they would not pursue them. Not that they could take a chance of sending them away without some support.

_Exile_. Ugly word that was, and yet it was what he was facing. Because the truth, as he understood it, was that Draco felt the counter-potion was completely do-able, but it would take at least a year. And until it was through Alf would continue to be perceived as an embarrassment to the Bell family, and therefore would continue to be in danger, and George with him.

"Maybe I should just go away…" Alf broke the silence that was now surrounding the table.

"Oi!" George looked at him, arms folded, and Alf blushed. "You go NOWHERE without me, kiddo."

"Right, then…" Percy took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. "Hermione has a lot of contacts through her work at the ministry, she seemed pretty confident she could set something up…"

On cue there was a knock at the door, and seven wands where whipped out. Ron grimaced. "Seems like old times."

Bill addressed the door. "Who's there?"

"Blimey…it's Charlie and Hermione." A voice called from the other side.

"Hermione…" Bill started. "What did you, Ron, and Harry fight in the lavatory in first year?"

"A mountain troll." Was the immediate answer from the other side.

Then Bill grinned. "Charlie…What color did Fred and George turn your hair when you were twelve years old?"

A roar from the other side was indignant. "Ruddy Slytherin green and silver! Let us IN, it's raining out!"

Bill released the locks on the door, and Charlie stumbled inside, shedding water, while Hermione came in perfectly composed, with a stack of parchment. "I offered you an umbrella charm!' She reminded him, lips pursed as she avoided his dog-like shake.

Ron came to his wife's side and kissed her. "Oh, that's to prissy for Charlie."

Charlie, the burliest of the Weasleys, looked over at Alf with a good natured grin, even as he peeled wet clothes off. "Hey, kid. Not how I planned on meeting you, but boy, you're exactly as I pictured!"

George, meanwhile, turned to Bill. "How did you know it was Fred and I who turned his hair?' He asked.

"Who else?" Chorused Ron, Bill, and Percy together. Arthur just chuckled.

Charlie was gratefully accepting a bowl of stew from Fleur. "I never did bloody well get the two of you back for that!" He looked at George sideways

George considered how best to respond, but it was Arthur who had the quicker comeback. "Really, Charlie? Maybe you'd like to make a vow for revenge? An unbreakable one?"

Most of the table looked confused…Ron choked on his butterbeer, however, and George actually laughed, something which had seemed an impossibility ten minutes ago. Arthur kept a straight face, and Charlie turned various shades of red in a row, as he had clearly never put together what, exactly, the twins' act of revenge had been for. "Er, right, then…guess we actually are even, eh?"

"You should count yourself lucky…" George laughed out. "That I was in charge of spelling your shampoo. Fred might have been REALLY vengeful."

Alf looked at him. "Anyone want to tell me what this is about?"

"No!" Ron, George and Charlie said at the same time.

George wrapped an arm around Alfred. "Some day, kiddo…I'm just not ready for that one now."

"Well…" Hermione took a seat between Ron and George, smoothing back her hair. "We've got a plan laid out for you guys. I'm guessing you're up to speed, George?"

George stroked Alf's shoulder as he responded. "If up to speed means I understand that Alf and I need to flee from Katie's nut job family, as egged on by Draco's nut job father, then go on…I'm all ears."

After about ten seconds of stunned silence, the entire group burst into laughter, as George intended. He was damned if he was going to let a bunch of wackos get to them after they'd survived Voldemort!

More relaxed, Hermione squeezed his shoulder gently. "Well done, George." She smiled gently. "We've set up an entire cover for the two of you that I think should work out just fine."

"Bulgaria?" Alf asked. George coughed to cover the questioning looks.

"Um, no…" Hermione went on. "Salem, USA, actually…where the American ministry is located. I've been in constant contact with them for the past few years." Efficiently she pulled out photos of a house and a neighborhood, passing them over to George. "This is where you'll be living…123 Pineapple Street, in the muggle section of Salem."

"Could it be any MORE insipid…" George murmured, then stopped. "Hang on…the MUGGLE section?"

"Well, yes." Hermione said patiently. "It's not likely that the Bells will search you out, but if they ever did, they would never search THERE. Besides, that would be the safest location for Alfred…he's not going to stand out at all."

George understood THAT well enough, but still! "And what about me, Hermione? Aren't I going to look a tad out of place?"

"Only if you do magic." She replied, leaving George speechless. Sighing, she went on, "Look George, whatever you do in the house is fine, but yes, for your own safety, and Alfred's, you are going to have to pass as a muggle. Is it really so revolting?"

"NO!" George ran his hands through his hair. "But how am I supposed to pull it off? I'm not you, Hermione, nor Harry…I've never lived in the muggle world!"

"I have." Alfred piped up, tentatively. "I can help."

George abruptly pulled himself together, and quelled his fears. He couldn't, wouldn't let Alfred think that this was a problem. Hell, he'd pretend to be a friggen sea-monkey if it would keep Alf safe. "Of course you do." He hugged Alf close, and gave a resolute smile. "And we'll be fine. I just didn't expect it."

He felt Arthur's eyes on him and knew he wasn't fooling his father, at least. But Hermione, satisfied, went on. "We have a very sound back-story planted for you, keeping as many details as close to your reality as possible. Your name is George Weatherby…" Percy scowled. "…er…sorry, Perce…and Alfred is your ten year old son."

"Son?" George and Alf said together.

"Yes…The American muggle authorities would look much more closely at the immigration of a Uncle and Nephew, no matter how many people we confound. We're enrolling Alfred in the local elementary school, by the way…fifth grade, they call it. You came to America to get away from your grief, as your wife Katie has just died of cancer."

Alf tensed, and George outright picked him up and sat him on his lap. Hermione's expression softened, but she kept going. "You're an author, by the way…made your money writing expensive textbooks on English mythology, but now you're working on your great novel…"

Charlie snorted. "A _writer?_ I though you were trying to keep this close to reality, Mi?"

George responded first. "Well, I could hardly run a joke shop from there, can I, mate?"

"Right…being a writer is a good reason for George to have a solid income, and yet work from home. Alf can help you with the muggle technology, I have no doubt. This house, by the way, IS on the floo network and you'll have undercover protection from the American Wizard community…you won't know they're there, though…" She kept going through various details, and George kept his arms around Alfred, acting calm and pretending to be listening.

Inside, though, he was panicking. He couldn't do this…not THIS…this he would botch up. And what price a botch up? Would his misstep cost Alfred his life? Both of their lives? How was he supposed to do this? He wasn't as daring has Fred…never had been, even if nobody believed that. He COULDN'T DO THIS.

Something roused him away from his fears, however. "Then there's a matter of the shop…you might want to consider getting some kind of proxy for Ron," She blushed, knowing that as Ron's wife that might come out badly, "…or somebody, at any rate…to make business decisions for you."

Percy started, and stared at him. George gave him a tired smile. "Was going to tell Ron this morning, Perce…never got the chance."

"Ah." Percy said, understanding.

"Tell me what, Mate?" Ron smiled at him. "Am I fired?"

"Quite the opposite." George pulled out the papers and handed them to his only younger brother.

Bemused, Ron read them over…and his face paled significantly. He clearly read them again, shooting George a sharp look between. Then, pale and perplexed, he passed them over to his wife, not speaking. Hermione read them over…and even with her over-abundance of brains, she didn't trust what they said without reading them twice, and then her eyes misted over.

Finally, Ron spoke. "Partner?" It came out as a hoarse whisper. "You must be joking."

"That, alas, is the price of running a joke shop, Ron…people will insist on not taking you seriously even when you are." George grinned. "You had best get used to it."

"You're insane." Ron continued.

"Get that a lot too, mate." George met Ron's befuddled gaze though, and softened. "I'm quite serious, Ron. I realized it the other day, after our little accident at the warehouse…" Alf cringed, and George squeezed his hand. "…you said something about how you didn't own the place. And that reminded me of two things, long, long over due. One, the shop was entirely in my name…has been since Fred died."

Arthur spoke. "You offered Fred's half to the family at the time, George." He reminded him. "And we told you we all believed that Fred would have wanted it to be yours."

"Well, yes…when we didn't know Fred had an heir." George pointed out. "Ron's comment reminded me that to begin with that part of the shop ought to be in Alf's name."

Alf gaped. "Me?"

"Held in trust until you are of age, of course." George smiled at him. "But the truth is, there wouldn't be anything left to put in Alf's name, or kept in my name, if not for you Ron."

Ron just stared at him, as if he didn't dare believe what he was hearing. George reached over and grabbed his forearm.

"After I moped here with Bill for a few months after the funeral, you were the one who stuck by me like glue. You, Ron, were the one who dragged me to the shop and convinced me that Fred would kick my ass if I let it go to seed. You pushed me back into the lab and told me to get my warped brain creating stuff before the public could get bored. You put up with my moods and with the days when I fought you about even getting up in the morning. On days when you sensed I would be heading to the Leaky Cauldron and getting myself sloshed, you dragged me out somewhere…anywhere…else with you. Hell, Ron, you blew off dates with Hermione to drag me to Oliver's Quidditch matches. You have never, ever, not been there for me, Ron." George smiled sadly at him. "Even if I never realized it. So yes, the shop is a third yours…and there isn't anybody I'd trust more to care for it when I'm not there."

It wasn't often that the entire Weasley family was speechless, but George had managed it. Suddenly Ron stood, and George rose as well, and they embraced in a fierce hug.

"You make it sound like it was work." Ron whispered shakily. "It wasn't, you know."

"I know." George admitted. "I'll miss you."

"I'll make you proud." Ron swore.

They pulled apart, and began the process of packing it in for the night. George felt good that there was at lease one thing he could be satisfied with, in the course of this ugly day.

WWWWWWWW

An hour later, George sat on the double bed that Fleur had prepared for them. Shell cottage was small, and this tiny guest room was the best she could offer. Alf was already tucked under the covers; George was pretending to look over the volume of papers Hermione had given him.

Alf suddenly squeezed his arm. "What's wrong…_Dad_?"

George gave him a genuine smile. "That is nice to hear." He admitted, stroking Alf's head.

"It's nice to say." Alf agreed, but kept going. "And you didn't answer the question."

George permitted himself a little sigh. "I am worried, Alf. Let's face it, this day didn't exactly end as I had planned…we've got a lot of work ahead of us." He stroked the boy's head. "I know that we will get through this together. But I'd be a piss-poor father if I didn't let it bother me a bit, hm?"

Alf gave him a confident smile. "We'll be fine. I'll teach you all about muggle stuff, it'll be fun." George snorted. "No, really…you'll be amazed. We'll go to football matches, and to the movies…I'll show you how to count muggle money…"

George couldn't help but laugh at Alfred's enthusiasm. The kid was now in the envious position of knowing more than his "dad" and he was enjoying it. Well, George would have too. He let Alf go on talking about the amazements of the muggle world, talking himself to sleep finally, and it was then that George let the sheaf of papers slide to the floor with a sigh, and put his head in his hands.

George Weasley was scared.

He had felt alone after Fred had died…horribly, devastatingly alone…but he really hadn't been. As much as it hurt, as much as he ached for his twin, he'd had family. Family in droves, in fact; more family than most people could dream of. His parents, five surviving siblings, soon augmented by in-laws (in the case of Hermione and Harry, friends before being in-laws), and then nieces and nephews. George Weasley had never been alone, never been not in reaching distance of family. Even when they'd been away in school, he and Fred had been at first with Bill and Charlie and Percy, followed by Ron and Ginny.

He was leaving his family for the first time in his life, and he felt rudderless. True, Alf was everything to him. But he'd never not had a support net before, and Alf wasn't supposed to support him, it was the other way around. What would happen if he had some parenting crisis arise, and Arthur and Molly not at hand to advise him. What if he was melancholy over Fred, and no Bill to chew him out? No Ron to bounce ideas off of, no Hermione to ask technical questions, no Ginny to laugh with, no Harry to just flat out be there. No nieces and nephews to spoil, save Alf, now his "son". George Weasley, fifth child of seven, had no clue how to be alone.

The tears surprised him, and he bit his lip, holding the sound in, but shaking with the sobs as he hugged himself tightly.

Arms surprised him; a deep embrace. Arthur, who George guessed hadn't been fooled by the bravado any little bit. "Insulato." He murmured, casting a cocoon of sound-proof air around Alf. Arthur's hand gently made circles on his back, and George realized the familiar gesture he often used to comfort Alfred had actually come from his own Dad's way of comforting him as a child. He sucked in air, suddenly, gasping and trying to stop, but unable to at first.

"It'll be okay, Georgie…" Arthur soothed. "We've survived so much worse, the lot of us, than this crisis. It'll be okay."

"Dad…" George's voice broke, trying to articulate his fears. "I can't bear it, can't bear the thought of being without the lot of you…I'm not independent like Charlie or Bill. Everyone always thought Fred and I were so fearless, but the thought of being away, of not being able to come HOME, scares the hell out of me."

Arthur's quiet laugh rumbled in his chest. "Do you think I don't know that, son? We're all homebodies, us Weasleys, and I don't apologize for that…I am proud of how close my children are, of how much love we all have for each other. Why do you think it ate away at us so much when Percy went away? When we lost your brother?"

George gradually calmed down, letting his father's gentle words ease his fears, and yes, his shame. Arthur was continuing slowly.

"You think I don't know how you feel about family, after what you just did for Ron? Do you think all families would be like that?" He squeezed him.

George sniffed hard. "They should be." He replied.

"Well of course they should, but until they are we just have to be content with being smarter than everyone else." He moved to stroke George's cheek, lifting his head to look at him. "I know you don't think that you're not going to be seeing us for a year, right?"

"Um…" George chewed his lip; wasn't this exile? Wasn't that exactly that?

Arthur smirked, and shook his head. "Young idiot, George. Hermione told you it was on the floo network…who do you think is going to be visiting? Any of us, as much as we can, without raising suspicion. For the love of all that's holy, including your head, do you really think you can keep ME out of a MUGGLE house?"

Laughter escaped him them. Of course he was being stupid! Of course being away from The Burrow didn't mean being cut off from his family! He WAS an idiot.

"That's my George." Arthur said, and he hugged him again. "My smart, funny, brave, loyal George." He said, more quietly. "Who has become quite a father himself."

George hugged him back tightly. "I had a good example."

He expected Arthur to leave him then, but he didn't. There was another soft incantation, and he recognized a spell for sleepiness, one that made him feel like chamomile was in his bones and lavender in his pillow. He recognized it from childhood, when he'd been sick and when Dad would come round to tuck him in to bed, soothing him as best he could. He felt himself drifting of, even as arms rocked him, and was only vaguely aware of being laid down on the bed, beside Alfred, of having warm blankets tucked around him. Dimmest of all, before sleep claimed him, was the gentle kiss on his forehead.

_Must ask Dad about that one…Alfred would like that._

And sweet dreams claimed him for his last night in England for some time.


	16. Epilogue

11-1-2007

Epilogue: We Belong.

Thanks to everyone who's been reading. This story is now completed. The sequel is entitled "We Belong II: In America" and will be posted beginning tonight. I hope you have enjoyed the introduction to young Alfred and watching him try to find his way with his Uncle George. Hopefully I will continue to find inspiration for this story line and as long as I do, I will keep it going!


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